What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we do…? -Friedrich Nietzsche-

A flower rised in the shade of blood Blood from blades that scar the heart He lies it down high and tall Tall from plants that shine no more But on lonely nights you hear her cries Cries from love that one can't find One day a bird flew past by By the garden that the flowers lie He rests next to the gloomy flower The flower made from blood that glows like no other The young lad drowned her with his love Love from hearts that is so true The two of them spent their happy days Days from memories that lives no more For the gardener his jealousy unleashed in its own way A way from the shoot that took the lad's soul From then he'll be seperated far Far from the flower that has a heart covered with scars Why? Flower,why won't you cry? Why? Flower,why won't you cry? But she answers all them With a blank and silent face She can think no more She can feel no more She can take no more She can give no more She can shine no more She can.......live no more All day...