I escaped my sorrow with the days.
Old shows ended. But they wrote new plays.
Actually, the days stretched into years.
I escaped my sorrow. I found novel ways.
Days became divided from each other,
and thoughts of my love became less
inside smaller thoughts.
I was the musician
too talented to write songs. Many instruments played
but not one original melody stayed.
Quick to find, but quick to lose. My imitating spirit
sought the prettiest things.
The hair shines, the instrument sings!
But nothing stays!
I escaped my sorrow. Fortunately there were ways.