It`s easy to say - I love! - at the end of the summer.
when darkness and highness are strong enough like a blood.
And the grief is painting the hills in the colors of autumn
and imagine for future and sense what happen it could.

It`s easy to kiss me and say after that - I`m sorry!
So easy, believe me, like throwing a stone to the sun.
And then go away like a whisper into its black hole,
like a ghost disappearing in transparent dew at the morn.

It`s easy to think that the softness of August is endless
and holding the sky is building a pleasure between.
The light of your eyes burned in ruins all my hopeless,
when entered my heart and intended to stay ever in.