Motives

When everything turns out so undue
When all brooks stop winding through woods

What I want is to sing

Let me sing... sing inside my little room

until either the waves stop stroking a ship
or all moss soften those red bricks

Will the most crowded city change into a ghost town?
And the wind of the white season replace the people?

Your wallpaper has recolored into a soft gray
seizing the lady's beads of light, a cry is going to happen

Then, I will sing...
Until you come for me...
I will be still singing...