Stream

My life is ending
The old rotine has blended
Give me cup of glasses to break my neck again
The yellow statue will bloom burning my room
Give me cup of ashes, nobody will learn
About the streams

The dead won't wake up, the end is here
Maybe I could end it sooner than I could
Give me cup of glasses to hurt myself inside
You can live with pressures of the skies
Blue can be in your eyes
But the prince will be thy lives
And they'll never know what lies

Swallow swallow, little swallow
Do as the wish of the prince
Steal the saphires from his eyes
And then throw them in their stream
Bring them joy and happines
As you stand upon your feet
Make them happy then you die
Life wasn't in your stream

["You have rightly chosen", said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of Gold the Happy Prince shall praise me"]