Who said the bliss is not
The mist
That comes from sum
Of all the leaves
Those're now on trees,
Those're fell from them,
When you were silent,
Holding sheets
Of book you're read
From page to page
To tell her
You will leave the stage,
While blood was painting
Red the page
You won't turn over.
Was that sage?
Who knows, my darling...
My breath goes on,
My sight goes through,
YOU WILL NOT BE ITS HERITAGE!