Faded Dreampath

What was mine, will it remain mine?
This farce is merely of staying alive...

Who understood me once,
bids farewell with a familiar face—
this resentment seems like drawing near.

Whose gentle voice's remorse has covered my eyes,
that melody seems like love itself.

With whose lips you once touched me,
in that caress I forget everything—
this heart seems made for breaking.

In whose feeling you exist,
don't become their tears—
this sorrow seems like dawn's malady.

Why did I desire you,
forgetting myself—
this joy seems like returning to the nest...