N O T E

In the cold and frosty dark November.

In The Streets Of Lents.

The shadows flicker.

And the tears cry a painful song, which never seems to last that long.

Where would you go, if the place you call home was inferno.

Your eyes are the only thing that tells the story.

In The Streets Of Lents.

Where they was no such thing as love between color; - As it was known as a sin.