It's just another weekJust one more week one week onlyI repeat to myself every dayIt's just another week a single weekOne more week and that goes byIt's just another week This week never ends
One day I said "please, hold my handsPromise don't forget me"I confessed my fears, my dreams, my loveYou said "Yes, of course I'll remember of us"You said "No problem, I feel the same to you"I believed in every word, every confessionI had hopesFrom time to time you returned saying again "I love you so much, no doubt"And I dreamedI made plans for usYou repeat again and again "I love you my baby, no doubt"Suddenly, you disappearNo replied to my messagesAnd I think "Oh no, he has a problem! What does he doing?!"I worried with your healthSuddenly, you return
I am made for youYou are don't made for meI hope without hopenessWithout certainI wait as a poor religious man waits for the glories of HeavenI hope as like the suicidal hope to silence the painI wait with the heart and with arms wide openKnowing that my body will warm you in the coldI expect nothing but your presenceI know i'm yoursSo much that I know you are not mineBecause I was made for youBut,You were not made for me
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.