I find myself tearing
For a dead Korean super model;
Dead in Paris, loathing Seoul,
She and I are not the same.

Taste of cold in my mouth
Chilly spine across the waters;
A lonely tower watches the funeral
Everyone clad in black, stylish.

Cornered look upon her face
And you -
You can't look at it without wondering
Was blond really her color?

Gutter filled sidewalks
Beauty in the rain,
Running in the mud
Swine to fill the sty.

Too long since we parted,
Too little did we know;
Too late to see it granted,
Too far to feel it grow.