Don't have my own God,
don't have a rhyme,
I just have this undefined feelings
That guarantee a perfect crime.
I'm growing older,
with every written letter,
and this night I wonder-
will the voice whisper in my ears?
Does he know that I'm dying?
Does he matter?
Take my innoscence as a teardrop,
as a rose in her bloom,
Silent night,and a sound of silence,
oh,such an empty room.
Never needed the stars...
I just need your skin
to linger on mine,
don't matter the dark,
for me,it works just fine.
Bitter whiskey,
and a woman on my bed.
Uncover the bruise on her face,
read from her lips,
seams that everything is said.