Compositor: Damián Antón-Ojeda
Where's the love that's made to fill my heart?
Where's the one from whom I'll never part?
First they hurt me, then desert me
I'm left alone, all alone
There's no house that I can call my home
There's no place from which I'll never roam
Town or city, it's a pity
I'm left alone, all alone
I’ll have the November leaves
In petrichor's rite
The sky is burning
Flames stretch across the sky as far as the eye can see
What had once been the despair
No place to which to run
November branches against the cold autumn aria
I’m left alone
The autumn leaves, the distance
The scar sounds
It all lines on the thread
Burning to the melody in her voice
As caressing my skin is not only the distant wind
But too her blood, in despair to escape
To despair of
Home again
Here, in the dreaming garden
Beautiful colors against the flowers
Reverberating the screams in such a quiet breeze
Light is so lucid
This place will only burn in love
To despair of
The home to which to run
Run with me