The dreamer sits, he ponders life; his wasted youth, his lack of strife... he thinks of things that could've been, his heart's affairs and now and then... he ponders love, his once-strong flames; the fires he's snubbed to live again... every fire that burned him out was unreturned, thus full of doubt... though he truly can't have known if they, the olden flames, had wished to play, to meet the flames of the dreamer, so~ and his thoughts were lost to the windy blow. Left him still sad, did the windy blow.