A piece of the story of frangipani flowers

This is a tale of black discourse that is reluctant to go away About a little beautiful flower That grows in the middle of the body Until death, it's still there. Maybe we hope too much To forget that we carry each other's destiny Which is sometimes very painful for us to feel That's the reality. Life in the corner of the grave Die in the corner of the grave Smile in the corner of the grave Crying there too. This is a piece of dark story Poor flowers beautiful flowers Become a lover of parasites Become every miss that won't be able to arrive.