Cold silent mornings
When all the world
And any word
Don't mean more than nothing.
So cold are all these mournings
Could any word within this world describe this sorrow?
He flies
And goes in through the ears
Could any ink sketch these fears?
(Could any ink sketch his dreams?)
When all the world
And any word
Don't mean more than nothing.
So cold are all these mournings
Could any word within this world describe this sorrow?
He flies
And goes in through the ears
Could any ink sketch these fears?
(Could any ink sketch his dreams?)