See, the shadow of you hands on my pillow
Clean illusion of empthiness, glases, dark glases on the windowboard
Storm of thousand guitars
Pouring, pouring in my lonely blood- Bossa Nova
Don't come back without the onion of love
Till then I'll prepare a dinner for three- Fight, Hope and Desesperation
Long ago is always now, my love
Dying is, not sharing with You