Our love, might it be,
a blushing dim rose.
Its thorn was a blast
piercing through my hold.
It bloomed no regret
on a single night.
Beauty may it hold
only in hindsight.
Our love, might it be,
a blushing dim rose.
Its thorn was a blast
piercing through my hold.
It bloomed no regret
on a single night.
Beauty may it hold
only in hindsight.