By the end of the day,
I won't see you anymore
We will close the door;
That was the end of may.

I'm looking at you
You're fencing me
But i still love you.

From the past i hear
The sound of our steps,
The whispering of your tears,
All sound as strange debts.

Some lies, so many cries.
Now, we look at better skies
And in Shakespeare's words I arise:

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.