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She said goodbye to you with white flowers
The Lady of the camellias,
The -above all suspicion- concubine,
Who also lives her life in metaphors,
As those in the poetry she whites.
The "now", that she 's longing for,
Indeed, in her dreams
She 's living it, not in practice.
She wasn't believed- it's true-
By nobody, even if much Desperately she sang her passion.
It's time to throw herself in the fire!
Perhaps as a burning firecracker,
For a few moments shining,
As a celestial meteor shard,
Someone would love her,
The way she wanted to be loved ... So
He can be willing to depose to her a wish ...
What else 's remaining to her any longer
Except to seek for a short, impressive,
But also liberating, romantic death.
Her soul is sick of an incurable disease
Long ago ...Palliative the euthanasia.
