How can I sleep, having been brought to life with you? How can I wake, having been sentenced to death by you? You hold the power of life and death in your great moods, in your glance there are many words written, and I pray your lips turn up. For when you smile, my world is brought to life. And when you cry, there is rain upon my lands. Your anger is the thunder and the lightning erupting across my high plains. The ice and blast of winter is your attention withdrawn; the warmth of high summer is your happy presence. All I want is neverending summer, but what a world this is — and I pray for anything but winter, for I can’t bear to be without you. But even in winter, I can pray for you to return.