In art, there is beauty.
In beauty, there is you.
In words, there is praise,
and praise I give to you.
If the eyes are the window,
then the mouth is the door.
May my own lips be the key?
That will unlock me so much more.
If not, then let the house stay cold,
with an icy bitterness in your heart.
And think of me no more dear lover,
for our ways must now part.
