I haven't seen clouds lately, i wonder what must br be wrong. But not knowing where to go to sit br br face to face with the sun, even if i am all alone br in Heaven with a wish to give a kiss to Hell; like br br a couple of angels ready to listen to what i want br to talk about. So i just use the grass as a pillow br br and dream about no more tears or sighs, or br no time when i am too sad to see your soul. br br Maybe the trees change their colors more than br my thoughts. Maybe because they get their clothes br br wet, and, my dear, i am used to sleeping there. br Passing out because i get so drunk i am unable br br to be near God. I am thinking you do not cry br cause precious life is coming to an end. The mirror br br i own i have held in my hands, and i have let it fly br away as now i am my own bird and for me, br br getting wet is where my mother might say. She br is suffering seriously from drinking a cup of my tears. br br Because she just might know I am as close to you, br as i was when i was inside her; intermittenly dripping br br my tears inside her, and i know she must have felt the pain. br She must have felt helpless as this is the way of the world. br br This is the way living things beg of the gods in the end, br this is way parents prohibit and protect the way i would br br like to spend my afterlife. Writing poems in an infant's grave, br and yearning that the girl with your wings will go unharmed. br br She will have stories on me smelling of the spell of love. br She will bring all the money from the banks of the rivers, br br and drink nothing but memories.