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And the night does not cover alone the sky, but my thoughts; and the sun does not shine upon as her duty alone, but washes my pain after the night. It was at the night, when I am with paper and pen, but it was in a day, I am your lover, dying for you to stay. However when things becomes clear, the sun no longer shines, my own darkness conquered my day. The nights become longer, the pains seemed to stay forever. I am no longer human: I am a poet, died long ago because of love. I was your lover, but no longer have his heart.