I hold the withered petals br of my illusions br in my hand. br Then I throw them on the ground br and lift my foot br to trample upon them.... br But I can't, br Because I can't be cruel, br Because it hurts, br Because it is painful.... br So I pick up again the withered petals br of my illusions br To keep for the cruel, cynical woman br I would be in a few years br For the woman in a desolate place br Who, with a cruel and sinister laugh, br would fling away the withered petals br Among the debris br in disgust br with me, with herself, and the ways of love.