I always write about love
and think I'm into it
And think of its twist and turn,
It wasn't that easy to love and
To be loved.
Each day we're swooning by
The comfort of the Sun,
I could not remember the last time
The light had left me;
No one would ever take a glance
on their dark times.

I know, I am complete--  living on a guarantee that
The stars will hold on into the night,
Each night where you will hear the
Swan's lullaby
And in morning, you will embrace
The thoughts of last night's catastrophe.