i'm not blaming you for every froth at the mouth,
for throwing a death-treating coup de grace,
for every midnights calls, "just hang the phone on the piece of glasses, i'm tired, define."
this is not an ordeal, dear you.
neither a perfect no-ended way for those sullen soul.
this is not an albatross,
neither a lake for bathing these bleeding-pleading souls.
let's make one's bed and lie on it, dear you.
giving up is just a renaissance.
not blaming you, not blaming me.
i'm sitting in the furnace room accompany with the orb of night,
this is not a trip 'one you can hang the wash on'.
but dear, this is our false move.
the sin of Adam.
but we're not a faith breaker,
this is just,
a couple faint of hearts.
i'm gonna run to pale the sun,
your clues is a trickery-loony defoliated area.
just for tonight.
warm me, calm my soul down, embrace my old heart.
the heart is as young as the day firstlight,
and as old as the seas.
just for tonight, dear.
my dear lodestone.
wake up with me tonight in the mattress from the ground up,
above these threnody-potter's heart.