You can love without really knowing it—
in front of a drink or a black coffee.
You make small talk
and you go back alone to your locked room.
You never know where the love goes—
neither whence it comes, nor what it takes, nor what it leaves behind.
You hope for a new beginning or a reprise
and it costs you a little, a little of your youth.
Love is the child of chance—
you only find that out much later.
When you left, I parted from a friend
but in my heart you are very much something more.
You never know where the love goes—
neither whence it comes, nor what it takes, nor what it leaves behind.
You hope for a new beginning or a reprise
and it costs you a little, a little of your youth—
and it costs you a little, a little of your youth.