Analysis of Saša Milivojev - A CRY

Apollo’s discus
Fine blond hair
The echo of the universe
The strong winds of Zephyr
The sun’s heat
Melted the wax wings
And I fall again
Why am I not a shadow
To be torn into two pieces
In the air
Why do I not have an apple instead of a heart
To have an arrow driven through it
Why is uncertainty so agonising
Let the blade cut the neck
A curse
A choir is singing
Purple colours of dreams
A verse fallen from the lips
The thirst of withered lilies
From whose petals
We will hear a woeful
Cry