Ajtók

The Doors

Coming to the first room, everything's white as snow,

And stepping into the untouched snow, your footprint is the passing winter.

The next room, everything's pink around you,

But while everything's sparkles you feel, there's nothing behind.

The passing time is waiting for yesterday,

While you're waiting for tomorrow.

Stepping into another room, where they are grieving,

But inside the tears, you can't find anything from you.