Upon the rooftop, where silence whispers low, Through the sunset's blaze, a lone figure in soft shadow. Almost lonely, but for the sky paints tales untold, As hues embrace, a solitary beauty unfolds.
Flowers in December On the wind's gentle breath, a soft murmur spoke: 'Be each other's shelter, for spring will come again.' The Raven and Death, silent observers, witnessed the conclusion of Winter's reign.
In the quiet of the night’s soft gleam, I hear the whispers of a dream. They call me from a distant shore, A place I’ve never seen before. Softly singing, secrets keep, Of promises the stars would weep. Through silver clouds and moonlight’s beam, I chase the whispers of a dream.