I want to be free,
but I chain myself to pain,
in case it leaves me.
She has always stayed,
lonely on my window sill,
chains around her neck.
She is not ideal,
but she is complex, constant.
Maybe, that’s real love.
I want to be free,
but I chain myself to pain,
in case it leaves me.
She has always stayed,
lonely on my window sill,
chains around her neck.
She is not ideal,
but she is complex, constant.
Maybe, that’s real love.
