Melancholia

The grey winter sky is reminding me of your eyes,
the calmness and the coldness, that you left
for me to survive.

Walking down the road and I feel no sorrow, no hate,
only melancholy is following me like the frost in my steps.
Only one butterfly is left alive this autumn, it's so beautiful and blue,
but without it's zest for life, the sunshine, it too
will die soon.

And I feel like that butterfly.
No sun, only melancholy, will follow my steps and sing with it's hoarse voice, my last song of blues.