When you are not you, the sun
becomes ashes, the silk of the moonlight
from your departure, I am filled with the night, the
night, the night, the anxiety,
when you are not you, the world becomes the night,
the night from my heart to the night forever
without you, every breath is the repetition of fear, the
moment is not the pulse of anxiety,
without you, there is no voice, no song,
no tears, no song, no wailing,
if it is made of mountains,
from the color of the soil and the regret of flying,
no one loves you as I am
.I dont brag about you who did wrong, I dont complain
to me
, I dont feel sorry for you, no
one loves you like me, I
dont brag about you, I complain
to me about you who did wrong, I
dont have a heart, without
you, there is no sound, no song,
no tears, no moaning,
if it is made of mountains,
the color of the soil and the regret of flying without you, there is
no sound, no song,
no tears, no songs. The wailing instrument
of Bali, if it is made of mountains,
is made of the color of the soil and the longing to fly.
