| The Futile Passion |
| Trees cut the wounded sky Of autumn it hangs dead Clouded in silver Of autumn it hangs dead Like a voice from within begging me to stay The same as the one telling me to get away Deep in my heartache Scattered like leaves lies love's light Gather me up And hold me through the night Like a voice from within begging me to stay The same as the one telling me to get away Your beauty is a wound in me Serene in virginity |