The city bound in gray smoke of buildings,
Its walls knit in illusion,
You stand in the midst of this silence —
A tune from an old forgotten song,
Its echo still sobs in the dark alleys.
The golden hue burned on layers of brick,
The hanging colors of evening behind clouds,
In the shadow of your chin finds solace,
The gentle touch of rough hands ignites —
A city soaked in the rain of memories,
Night falls asleep in a hidden pain.
Holding onto the railing of dim streets,
The depths of your gaze sink into darkness,
Death and love, solitude on both sides,
Looking at you, these things come alive again,
Here, death wears the guise of love —
Returning, leaving, in quiet solitude.
In the alphabet lies the memory of death, memory of love
In the death of memories, love is born; in love’s death, memories are born
In the death of memories\' memories, love is eternally born
In love\'s love\'s love\'s death, memories are eternally born
In the alphabet lies the memory of death, memory of love.