I guess it is.
Too much love will kill eventually.
At moment, it is killing me softly.
In a year there is a time for autumn and winter
At this moment I'm travelling in a blister
Dearest, I'm leaving to find a way
And the memories of us will be stay
Try to convince that I'm not a dreamer
And life sometimes become bitter, not always sweet as creamer
I'm trying to not giving a word of lullaby
Because life is not in dream but in reality
Too much love will kill eventually
I guess it is
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