You in White and I in Black,

With a ink and paper on table

In the wild dark forest inside the cottage

Riding the chariot to the Red Door.

But what if after opening the door only one exist

Then I can have my lovely solitude,

That I always dreamed of with the moon.

Contrarily, I’ll think of you as always one more time

Grief, resentment, melancholy all at one more time.

In the end, I wished not to walk that Red Door,

Me without you, you without me,

Is not that something I can think.

Walking with you to the black door,

Makes me feel like my lovely solitude.