Dust of magic is what's left of love that was burned with
jealousy has now a place inside of my heart.
A crow that was part of an angel that fell from the sky.
A distant star in the sky that fell forever into a black
sea.
That was a part of a story that was never completed, a story
that was cut in the middle and maybe it is better this way.

A memory of what used to be, and a relief that it will not
happen again.
A part of me that will live forever is a part  that died on
the other side of the world.  
A cure that killed me once and killed me again is somehow
like a drag, going through my veins... my heart.
Don't seem to forget and feel the magic that turned to
dust.... And at the same time, it is the one of the last
things I want.
It is like a black magic... like the eyes of a raven.