A single flame flickers

out of the window.

The despair hides in the raindrops

that washes the dirt off your face,

The whip of time

upon the soft skin

has turned it blue.

A white lady sits on a rock

every night,

staring at the midnight blue water;

she's waiting for glee to return one spring.

The girl on the balcony,

tries to find happiness

inside the little screen, 

she's named "jackpot"

The heartbroken lad writes the words

he couldn't ever say to any—

forgotten words dipped in blue bruises.

Spring comes, spring goes, 

the hours pass—a distance of anger and calm,

of love and hatred falls apart.

Each spring brings color,

not all are bright, nor all are pale.

Some stained in our laughs,

some in the bluebird's song,

some in the tune of the balcony,

and some in the young soldier's blood.