|What is it about this spring air?
It gives me nightmares where once it brought peace.
I no longer find serenity in this cool, gentle breeze,
only nostalgic disease, all these years festering in me.
It's when I am drawn to the pictures and songs
taken and written, now sour and smitten
like everything I had given in childish disposition.
But that was years ago, and on I'm still living.
But I walk through the fields, fresh grass to my heels,
I kneel and I pray that I'll no longer feel,
that I'll heal with the time as it slowly goes by
but I'm left only with silence as a heartless reply.
With a heave and a sigh, I utter my goodbyes
that I've muttered at least five thousand times.
But time changes nothing, it's always the same.
I doubt I will ever enjoy springtime again.