Гарри Аракелян - Nothing Left To Write

Late
September, autumn in the air
Cold on the window, silence everywhere
Thoughts keep circling, restless in my head
Bringing back the words we should never say
Hard to admit what we already know
Some things don't break, they quietly go
The game is done, the fire is low
No final move, no place to go
We had the wings but never flew
Had all the skies and never touched the blue
The wind still blows but all the fire is gone