The whip of the rain, the sting of the sun,
Cannot be compared to the hurt I feel.
My drumming heart has not been played, as long as your loving gaze is far.
This drum of life cannot be heard, for the path that leads to you is webbed. I miss the look from your shinning moons, and cannot forget your more than a dozen pearls.

The scent of you, does grace my head.
The touch of you, sends chills my spine.
The field is dry, the rain is late, I use my strength, I faint again.
I came to gain but loose the game. How can I behold you again.