When the sun has gotten tired of shining, and the darkness is beating him up,
When the stars come out in silent and the blackness in now on top,
And the poor sun is whining, for he is about to disappear
There you come from the nowhere, with your horse and your spear
A sigh, a smile, and brilliance in my eyes
You paint my world fantasy-like
And now where’s my reality?
Your waving hair makes my day; your natural grace drives me insane
And when I’m about to fall down fainted, you’re already there catching my breath
Your galloping horse gracefully carries you, while your chest is lifted up
What a well-structured godlike creature!
Are my eyes telling me wrong?
Further explanation is indeed needed
As long as I know Greek gods are inexistent
I must confess you are a stunning aberration
And honestly, how can I ask for more perfection,
if of it you’re the incarnation?
