What makes a flower open when the sun rays pass it by,
If not, an inner longing for the warmth within the sky?
What make an eagle soar, up where no eye can see?
If not, a heart that hungers for an unknown liberty?
And what do mortals feel, their thoughts so hard to know
If not, desire which burns like hell's infernal glow?
The human need for feelings: they make us who we are.
An open, empty canvas or a bright and shining star.
But if no light can touch it what may the heart inspire?
But only that sad darkness and never reaching higher...