Cooling down my cheekThere is but an acheCome alive through the stormAs I gaze upon youBut an idol(Only an image)Though I can seeClear and…
Twasn’t he, the bat-winged one,Smoldering heap of ashTwas truly her, the pale-faced one,Summoner of Devil’s stash
When it comes to youI’m in painFor I look in the mirror,And see only that whichMay disappoint…
There is but peace of mindBrought to me by youThe fear subsides,I ache inside,The dreams that do come true…I’m a mad…
I can’t put words to this…Whatever I feel inside;The ache of you,That eternal ache…I cannot remember today,Why should I?
If it be her wishI shall fall deeply on her floor
Some people say‘We’ll always have Paris’ — or London, or Rome(or Vegas, I guess, but what goes on there we dare not disclose) —