The feel-blissful sensation has become a thing of the past,
whereby charges over my soul are going on; this brain gets to blast
The seasonal changes have lost their sense in my life so terribly fast,
wherethrough the veins of love come to be contaminated onto this chest
Lies; only lies all around me, unfortunately
There seems no way to realize how possibly the man living inside my all will last...
So, the secrecy of love, just read these lines
And go on installing all types of aching fines...
Turn my page
And see how I have become too age
Turn my page
And read my mere adage
"The tears throughout my face never cease to exist"
Towards the encounter of day-passage, my mind only reads my insult,
wherein there have appeared heartaches and longing as my sole cult
I find it really difficult to hold this head for the shining morning
wherewith a heavy load of anguish falls upon me, leads to surrendering
Turn my page, my secret love, just turn my page
and witness how achingly there goes my life passage
and read into the lines of how this man failed to be sage
and finally burn your head with my mere adage
"if there is off the chance that love really lives,
this emotion of mine will carry it to you in beehives"
