It is unbelievable. So insecure. Like petals of roses, flaking in the wind.
With no colour, the red has no bloom. It is unbelievable.
I am walking into time. Walking. Just walking.
There is nothing in sight.
No vision. No light. Just walking.
What is this time? Where am I going? Alone? Why am I alone?
I cannot decide.
You are distant. I cannot see you. I cannot feel you. You are not here.
In my time, in this time, where are you?
My rose is dying. Perhaps in time, it will cease to exist.
My rose flakes in the wind, with petals so white, so pure, but poisoned by time.
Poisoned by time.
In time, it will die.
And I am still walking. When will time end?
I am in a graveyard. Lonely, quiet. There is no more life.
Why am I in time? Why am I caught in time?
My rose, of colour, come back to me, for you gave me life.
You were my life.
I am dead without your bloom, so red.
My rose of colour, take me out of my grave. So I may live again.
Take me out of time. So stagnant, I am cold. But there is no breeze, I am calm.
But my heart is bleeding. I am hurt.
My rose of colour, do not desert me! Do not die! Do not leave.
But yet, your colour runs from you, dripping blood off a cloth, like blood off my body.
Blood runs completely.
Your colour fades, and I am alone. Stuck in time. Unsettled.
What is there with no life but time? Time to do what? Time for what else?
Do we really need more time?
Your colour fades. Your colour is faded. Why am I still here?
How can I still hurt, when I have bled completely?
Stuck. Time. Blood.
My rose, how did you die? Was it time? Was it I?
I am dizzy. I am faint. I am stuck in time. Frustrated.
Longing to live, longing for life, with only my rose of colour. But you are no longer bold.
Red. My colour of passion. Gone with time, but I am still here.
I cannot cry. I feel no change. There is no more. There is no less.
Stuck. Time.
Time keeps me prisoner. Time, a demon so powerful, filled with deceit.
A demon, who tortures, who shows no mercy. Tomorrow could go on forever.
Time permits no change, or keeps it stagnant. Keeps me away.
My rose runs dry of colour and time has kept me in this place.
And I am a prisoner to no change.
I see my rose. I see no colour. I feel the same.
Exactly the same.
Stuck.
I am weak. I have not been fed. But I am not dying. Time does not move. The walls are grey.
My skin has turned pale. I am not dying.
But I feel I must,
Or, I must escape.
How? How do I escape my demon?
I have no strength. No life. No love. No passion. How?
Think. Wonder.
But time is so still. So strong is he.
I must be patient. I wait in time. Maybe time will set me free.
By then, would my rose of colour be dead?
Then how can I live?
My tragedy or happy end. Do I even see a happy end?
It is too cold. Too dark. Too quiet. Time is too still.
My rose of colour, you used to be so bold. Did you deceive me? Did you surrender me to time?
Did you forsake me?
I pray time will set me free.
My rose of colour, you used to be so bold.
Set me free. OR LOVE ME.
Then the demon of time was perhaps an Angel instead.
With no colour, the red has no bloom. It is unbelievable.
I am walking into time. Walking. Just walking.
There is nothing in sight.
No vision. No light. Just walking.
What is this time? Where am I going? Alone? Why am I alone?
I cannot decide.
You are distant. I cannot see you. I cannot feel you. You are not here.
In my time, in this time, where are you?
My rose is dying. Perhaps in time, it will cease to exist.
My rose flakes in the wind, with petals so white, so pure, but poisoned by time.
Poisoned by time.
In time, it will die.
And I am still walking. When will time end?
I am in a graveyard. Lonely, quiet. There is no more life.
Why am I in time? Why am I caught in time?
My rose, of colour, come back to me, for you gave me life.
You were my life.
I am dead without your bloom, so red.
My rose of colour, take me out of my grave. So I may live again.
Take me out of time. So stagnant, I am cold. But there is no breeze, I am calm.
But my heart is bleeding. I am hurt.
My rose of colour, do not desert me! Do not die! Do not leave.
But yet, your colour runs from you, dripping blood off a cloth, like blood off my body.
Blood runs completely.
Your colour fades, and I am alone. Stuck in time. Unsettled.
What is there with no life but time? Time to do what? Time for what else?
Do we really need more time?
Your colour fades. Your colour is faded. Why am I still here?
How can I still hurt, when I have bled completely?
Stuck. Time. Blood.
My rose, how did you die? Was it time? Was it I?
I am dizzy. I am faint. I am stuck in time. Frustrated.
Longing to live, longing for life, with only my rose of colour. But you are no longer bold.
Red. My colour of passion. Gone with time, but I am still here.
I cannot cry. I feel no change. There is no more. There is no less.
Stuck. Time.
Time keeps me prisoner. Time, a demon so powerful, filled with deceit.
A demon, who tortures, who shows no mercy. Tomorrow could go on forever.
Time permits no change, or keeps it stagnant. Keeps me away.
My rose runs dry of colour and time has kept me in this place.
And I am a prisoner to no change.
I see my rose. I see no colour. I feel the same.
Exactly the same.
Stuck.
I am weak. I have not been fed. But I am not dying. Time does not move. The walls are grey.
My skin has turned pale. I am not dying.
But I feel I must,
Or, I must escape.
How? How do I escape my demon?
I have no strength. No life. No love. No passion. How?
Think. Wonder.
But time is so still. So strong is he.
I must be patient. I wait in time. Maybe time will set me free.
By then, would my rose of colour be dead?
Then how can I live?
My tragedy or happy end. Do I even see a happy end?
It is too cold. Too dark. Too quiet. Time is too still.
My rose of colour, you used to be so bold. Did you deceive me? Did you surrender me to time?
Did you forsake me?
I pray time will set me free.
My rose of colour, you used to be so bold.
Set me free. OR LOVE ME.
Then the demon of time was perhaps an Angel instead.
