A fallen angel, or the devil's kin?
It is the mystery that drives me
A question for which to find the answer-
not a second of hesitation, before I choose to sin.
And a mirror she is, because my eyes have yet to gaze upon
the true face to which her portrait belongs.
Even if the words she had spoken were bitter
and the mood had gone sour,
Why is it that I'm filled with sugar and begin to jitter?
Just who are you?
Amira, she maybe
Is a mirage that is only a silhouette
Of what I see-when I let
Myself dream in a dream.
A princess? The Virgin Mary,
or a flower who had bloomed already?
Let me know the taste of your nectar
In the mysterious center
of the undiscovered cherry blossom,

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