Good morning Vera, my trance; you know I'm not good.
Not in their sense of goodness; you know: I'm naked in front your eyes, I can't lie!
Maybe I'm too stupid, or maybe I'm too clever, Vera...and like you, I haven't what I want.
This mörning the winds came tall from the south
the iron wine still is in my cup.
Good evening Vera, my thorn; if I could analyze myself, in a cold equation
cutting like a vivisection across the heart...I'd realize that you're all I need
But that's another story, Vera
a long story, as long as the time.
Time.
