Sorry but I heard what you said
to yourself when you was alone.
You said that your love sufferd and died.
Can I bury this love and mark his grave with a stone?
Sorry but I saw what you did when everybody went out.
You weeped silently when you would like to shout.
I know, your heart is so illuminated but there is a black out
in your mind: you love me but your compass indicate the south!
Your plane is not sure any more, madam, and I prefer to fly
with my own wings. It doesn't matter: like a bird or a butterfly.
But I'll land where you expect the less: in your heart in standing by.
I'am a professionnal, madam, so don't never tell me good bye.
/https%3A%2F%2Fassets.over-blog.com%2Ft%2Fcedistic%2Fcamera.png)
/http%3A%2F%2Ffarm1.static.flickr.com%2F15%2F22101551_b225292c5f.jpg)
/http%3A%2F%2Ffarm4.static.flickr.com%2F3504%2F4039417329_afdb0128cf.jpg)
/http%3A%2F%2Ffarm2.static.flickr.com%2F1162%2F1343404402_99d3b8e295.jpg)