You're never coming back.
But I think you a lot.
In my imagination,
You're so beautiful?
You were in your bed I didn't understand what you
tried to say me.
You tried to speak again and with your tired voice you
told me:
"Don't worry, I'm here with you"
I believed your words,
but sad to say it was not the truth I was a child too
much little to understand and pray but that day came
tomorrow before yesterday.
While you tried to laugh I didn't know what I could do
you wanna go on with your fight against the shit
disease and from down all the faces hidden by the
hands and some tears,
little tears seen exit in a hurry.
You alight on the uptight incomplete little canvas,
dried colours on the master wood will remain not in
vain.