Turn About

She grabbed the silence tight within the final glance

And walls where closing all around her voiceless temper

The hour was dealing with the future on a chance

And life was leaving my ambitions empty-handed

A tiny sentence states the truth just like a quote

To end this story in a prettifying disorder

My voice kept coming as if waters sink a boat

While she was standing like a passing by beholder

If things could turn about…

Her pace slowed down in doubt right on the final stair

And gave my gaze a chance to steal away the vision

Her skin was drowning in the blackness of the hair

Before she hide behind the neighboring division

That night with hands up high and barely one condition

Gave in to another god I had in my past living

To grant me back with just a beckon of remission

That pure old dream I had, the one I used to live in

If things could turn about…