If you speak love to the color red
If you speak love to the color red and sorrow, she will show you the rose. Summer was fragile conversation with colors long shrouded, a memory.
Mid-beat, the cold heart of winter now. Winter's on my hands; Still, I hold: gold band on the third finger of his left hand his hand on the pillow of the young girl shh... One thread to torment and comfort.
Summer was sleeping again in the mournful bed of childhood. Today is winter; Icy winds crack against my cheek and I hold the rose.