Pure,
I was sure.
Like a tired seagull who'll fly no more
and the love it never will wait for.

See,
I was here.
Now, nothing is as it should be,
the time goes away, far from me.

What is pure,
what is not?
Who is sure,
who is not?

Only you,
the candid snow coming from blue.
Silence all over the world,
there's a secret that will reaveal no word.

Pure,
I'm sure.
A smelled flower your hairs are,
a sweet fairy you are, now not so far.