From blackened eyes the tears flow in streams.The wounded heart, like the sun beneath clouds.
Words like lead pierce my soul,Rivers of blood course through my body.
I sit at the piano, begin to weave some notes,My heart and my feelings serve as the score.
Outside, the snow has blanketed all in whiteAnd laid a carpet of sadness over me.
The white snow is paper that does not speakWaiting for letters—the footprints of your steps.
I feel a sonata played by the wind,But the longing inside me will not be quenched.
