An old season returns,
an old season returns,
with a memory-laden breeze.
An old season returns,
an old season returns,
with a memory-laden breeze.
It rarely happens,
that she is there, and solitude too.
An old season returns,
with a memory-laden breeze.
When from memory’s downpour,
even the eyelids begin to weep,
when from memory’s downpour,
even the eyelids begin to weep,
how fragrant then seems,
how fragrant then seems,
even the heartbreak of the past.
An old season returns,
with a memory-laden breeze.
Two figures appear,
in this hazy mirror,
two figures appear,
in this hazy mirror,
with me has also come,
with me has also come,
your mad lover.
It rarely happens,
that she is there, and solitude too.
The fruit of silence too,
is a long, drawn silence.
The fruit of silence too,
is a long, drawn silence.
We have listened to their words,
we have listened to their words,
and also spoken our own.
It rarely happens,
that she is there, and solitude too.
An old season returns,
with a memory-laden breeze.
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