As the first husband of sadness - abandoned in front of the altar of winter, I do not want to remember the summer, where I met, I met and I kissed. The orange of the sun intertwined our fingers in our hair and played as an artist with their colors. His palette had only gold, red, and blue, and I expected darkness and darkness, and I needed black. Bloody in lashes - I missed the most gentle words ... Drunk with love - I did not write the happiest verses ... You left - exactly when I negotiated with the rhymes and left a cloud in summer past.
