Last call, dead one

My pretty little bright-eyed fellow,

what has happened to our bodies?

Sand is falling over my bed,

-a stream of hours and meaningless fear-

Sadness dropping on my eyes -collapse is near.

We used to wear a name, d'you remember?

My crown has fallen, my cheeks have burnt

-leaves and spring and a new life are knocking at my door-

Little one, I used to be afraid of darkness;

now time is running out, time's a slayer of blame.

Bright-eyed one, you used to know

-our hearts apart from the rest-

how to approach to my body and make it bloom

with your soft halo of naked truths.

My pretty little bright-eyed fellow,

where are you?