you are but a image of your soul,
that what comes out in the open,
and longs for acception.
So come out in the open,
free yorself from iron chains,
sing with the glory of forgotten worlds,
and show yourself to me.
You are but a imagination of my mind,
You are but to become outstanding,
You are but to be yourself,
a reflection of an image,
and therefore to be forsaken.
If you knew what was to become,
you'd see the world different somehow,
long for the clouds that are vaporating,
desire the purple that once lived in the sky,
and see roses in the corner of your mind.
You are but a moment in distance,
a memory in time, but fading with the years,
You are but yourself,
forever growing but shrinking in air.
As if nothing ever became,
while you once belonged there,
where the clouds are still lying in air,
the sun is breaking on the water,
and you are barried in yourself.
You are but to be dead,
but hey,
are we not all?