Last month I attended my first funeral,
Made me felt like I hit my face to a stone hurdle.
This summer I noticed my first white hair,
I admired it like it was a flair.

The spark in your iris, I asked if it's green,
Turns out it was rakishly dyed hazel.
Sweat droplets on your kissable skin,
The leaking sweet breeze of april...

I admired it like it was a flair, your eyes, hazel...
Drowned by cold reality, my first funeral...