It’s twelve past three;
swallowed in this terrorizing night
when another flame
ignites right before dawn.

The greedy concrete, the frozen thoughts;
the blank postcards and the empty lots;
she won’t trust nor will she fall for
those rendezvous spots.

The barriers, the forbidden lies;
the traffic lights and the broken time;
oh, where have all those
frankness gone?

What if her heart breaks no more;
and the yellow balloon keeps
swinging in the night that
lends away its green light.

What if her heart still tastes
the confined love?
Shit, what if the damage
is already done?