Parting is such sweet sorrow.
What does that mean?
Where does the logic behind it lie?
If such sweet sorrow is in parting why dare part all?
For is not the binding of such a sweet heart strong enough to overrule?
Nothing comes from the lack of compassion you with held.
Beastly thunder and yet alas my heart is cold.
With every breath you hinder an icy frost that covers the glass of the window.
Large mists of cloudy dust gather in the distance.
Though the heart of magic is dead it lies within a fiery fortress of enchanted meadows.
Galloons of verdure stretch upon the barren landscape.
Scattered across with vibrant blue bells that sing in their sway no more.
Only when your footsteps walk, up along the sandy banks of Whitsure.
Only then do the blue bells sing to the chords of your spirit.
Cannot one being be entirely devoted or shall not one lose his course?
Through a blossoming white shower of petals of rose there you are to wipe away the shadows.
If thou are not hopeless without you, thou is not even there.
For you make my heart sing in a chorus of enlightenment.
Mistaken are you if you think your frosty footsteps blacken my view of your facade.
It remains hardly unnoticeable to witness such a beauty.
You sear your name upon my heart.
And if it be so I shall think of you, when all the flowers on Whitsure banks bloom.
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