Your sun

During these cold winter days,
The Sun hides beneath gloomy London's sky,
Night becomes longer the day passes by,
I walk alone along the hyde.

Squirrels and pigeons roam together,
Scavenging food left on the ground,
A scarecrow came chasing away,
Squirrels and pigeons left to die.

Dogs with sweaters a scene to laugh,
In handbags like dolls, my stomach burst,
A walk in the park these dogs found each other,
They call it coincidence, I call it fate.

In cold winter days, you need a sun,
Something to warm you up outside the door,
My sun is long dead now a black hole,
Where this sun used to be a star.