and I am shaken, am slain.
Giving in to these passions of the heart; a beating, a subtle needing
- a shudder within this cage of bone.
And now, when this weather changes once again, I find myself a stuttering.
Still the same old name and foolhearted smile as always meant to be?
Fighting against this cold they sometimes name Spring,
Again, my heart it bleeds,
trying against the waterwheel of joy, that once, so surly, you brought beside to me.
Oh, how we lied.
Oh, how in these words we cry.
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