Junk piles in a dusted room,
Old memories and nostalgic essence,
I can see the past and present melting here,
The clock in this room is still stuck in your presence.
Something about the silence here,
Melancholia is what i believe to be it's name,
Heavier than the world's burden,
And your mind tells you that nothing's the same.
Maybe it's a fortunate thing,
People come and depart as lessons,
Or else I wouldn't have found myself,
Beneath all my irrelevant obsessions.
The mirror reflects true happiness,
I've found the truth at last,
With all the sensations and a heavy heart,
I'm shutting this door of my time travel to the past.
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