Laying his flute, the king of cowherds enclosed his sweetheart's hands in his. He laid aside his crown, she laid her veil; his eyes bathed her in delicate love, she lowered hers in coy. Frivolity had raced past their rendezvous.
The days are numbered, but together we shall live the dream. The dream that we have spun on wheel of our lives, with threads of our gaiety. The dream that is to remain. The warmth of your hands shall sooth mine, your eyes shall win me. You and I shall stay awake through sweet nights as the moon shines her way through the dainty stars.
You shall stay by me to witness the vivid colours of impassioned Spring deluge our lives; our love overwhelming all senses the draw us apart. The bumblebees shall fill up the fragrant air with sweet concerts and this be their day.
This day, we indulge once more in this scandalous game of love, sprinkled with pain that shall destroy us.
We shall rise again from our ashes, victorious.
