Shall I lay dead in your bed

I want to live somewhere else in Scottland, in the Highlands where Scotts is spoken and the trees remain you are near, don't know where. I close my eyes and cold invides me, winter invides me and solitude is a never-ending settler driking burning tea in the holes of my Heart.

Is there any chance for Love in this cold winter. May I rest in your sweetie-warmed lips. Shall I lay dead in your bed for the rest of the existence. Hence your Prince. Hence my protest.

I lay in Love to meet your soul again, when souls meets body.

Pouring letters with no meaning in this cold afternoon.

Death, the word I have written in my brow.

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