Is it me who's wrong, Or is this daze far too long? Do I have a wild imagination, is it really true? I recall not such a thing, your face smeared with glue, On the wall, your portrait upright, The sun out upon you with golden light. Is it me, is it me blame, Or this ruthless game. Lay tight in peace, Your memories will not cease, Like you did when you left me, But whom am I, maybe it was meant to be.