We came to an end, my friend.
I can't afford to rent
my heart or sell it on credit.
I found myself craving for having merit
before you.
It is a cage, and I am a prisoner of war,
The war that had been lost before I stood in the battle line and fought.
It is not yours or someone's fault,
and I believe you will be having something more,
'cause you deserve it.
I have preserved a reservoir of grief,
bought red wine, took a pencil and a leaf.
It is my substitute for you, I plunge
into expectations, unfortunately, meaning much.
Tomorrow will not be full of sorrow.
I'll wake up with the aim but not to borrow
what I deserve, because I do deserve –
I'll better take a tool and, working hard, make myself bloom.