Nothing comes, nothing comes
like the setting of the sun,
like a song already sung,
nothing comes, nothing comes.
Still he stands there, getting redder
as the silence starts to fester.
Still sad silence from the jester:
nothing comes, not…
On the hard ground she lay,
A thing forgotten, left to decay,
Her chest heaving up and down,
Her heart beating, but she could hear no sound.
A tear slid down ever so slowly,
Never before had she felt so lonely.
As if to fall within the folds…