That could have been.
The strings are rusty and fingers numb,
but I sing for you my bewildered one,
with a heavy heart and a trembling voice,
under the shade of this starry night,
I sing for a world that could have been.
On the moonlit rooftop,
beneath the cloudy canvas,
I knit a river of words unspoken,
meanwhile passes a shooting star,
and I wish for a world that could have been.