I loved the world to die in flames;
I loved it, without face or names.
Its eyes of darkness cast on me,
I loved them, for they couldn’t see.
I loved the roses that were dying,
I loved the children that were crying.
Each and every drop of tear,
I loved it, for it wasn’t clear.
Why do we love all that is broken?
Why do we love what can’t be woken?
It is just a dream of ours,
That we’ll be buried with those flowers.