From you
Give me a couple minutes to leave the flat,
Now it’s difficult to see your blue eyes.
And it seems to be an attack
That will kill me with kitchen knife.
No more words to describe the fear,
And no actions to counter the pain.
All my sober mind disappeared,
But I’ve got no one to complain.
For the last thing I try to run,
Run so fast from this great disaster.
But you started to fire a gun,
And I’ve died after this bluster.
