Heaps of dead leaves scattered by the wind
Your hand once beautiful, now stuck out dead
Barren you, autumn tragedy, and me unkind
There was neither hopes nor thread

You, my last and most beautiful
Prayers coming out, flat and pitiful
Only from me and the air hanging heavy
As much cold as your skin so deathly

To be forgotten and lost
Though once loved and wanted the most
My heart hurt you could not see
Confused yet satisfied as i be

Now evoking and provoking spirits
Tales and nothing hints
Your hand in my forever dreams
Twenty...forty...or till i die in my sleep