When the leaves fall from the tree,
they never say goodbye.
They never knew when they would fall
and so it all come as a surprise.
Gradually they detach
from the world they came to know,
and feel the winds against them,
leading the Waltz quite slow.
Then the breeze leaves leaves empty
of touch, of sense, of illusion.
What's left is the ground, where we lay down
our dreams, our life, our passion.
No matter how hard the branches reach out,
it was never enough to make them stay,
for the leaves fall, not of their choice,
but of reality that they'll soon decay.
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