love is love not these consequences
I would looking for you to the edge of the world
if that means I have to suffer all my heart and senses
love is love not these consequences
the pain will come but the joy will be the premises
for all the hope and just for that I would say the word
love is love not these consequences
I would looking for you to the edge of the world

The ballerina's pirouette:
   This is the little triolet.
Within a faëry scene and set
The ballerinas pirouette
To a limpid midnight minuet
   In Thumbelina-esque ballet.
The ballerina's pirouette:
   This is the little triolet.

My pen is dry of hateful ink,
My thoughts are run amok.
In the din of madness I can not think;
My pen is dry of hateful ink.
In the mires of envy, I start to sink
and as far as creation, I've no luck.
My pen is dry of hateful ink,
and my thoughts are run amok.

I miss you most when you are near me,
Since I once knew you but not anymore.
Since “we” can no longer be,
I miss you most when you are near me.
If only my heart would let me be free,
I could move on. My life, restore.
I miss you most when you are near me,
Since I once knew you but not anymore.

~~~
His eyes are growing dimmer
He doesn't romp and play so much
Although he is still a beggar
His eyes are growing dimmer
They're almost the color of azure
He does still love my touch
His eyes are growing dimmer
Now his paws don’t seem to clutch
~~~

Oh, how I wish I'd only kept quiet,
So I wouldn't feel this same sickness again.
Pathos overrides with quite a riot;
Oh, how I wish I'd only kept quiet!
I should swear to them I mean nothing by it,
But anxiety is useful, now and then;
Oh, how I wish I'd only kept quiet,
So I wouldn't feel this same sickness again.

Would that I were not a ghost,
Forever doomed to haunt thee,
To follow one I loved the most;
Would that I were not a ghost!
To watch as you resign your post,
Preparing to forget me;
Would that I were not a ghost,
Forever doomed to haunt thee!

The color orange puts me in pain
The memory, I seek to overwrite
The instances of which I would complain --
"The color orange puts me in pain!"
I recall the carrots, left out in the rain
And the red hair soaked with sweat by night
Yes, the color orange puts me in pain
The memory, I seek to overwrite