Bittersweet, bittersweet.

As I wonder how a simple paradox could amaze me so,

It could have been the things I merely imagined, no?

Or the taste they left behind as they turn tail and go.

Bittersweet, bittersweet.

Like the parts of a meaningful songs you used to sing;

Oftentimes desired, but always alluring.

Or the past they left behind as they grow more captivating.

Bittersweet, my cinnamon rolls are,

But only when they don't dream something bizarre.

Bittersweet, their attempts are;

Harsh and swiftly like a shooting star.

Hold it, my taste buds are feeling quaint,

Maybe from the smiles I tried to acquaint.

Or their bittersweet cinnamon rolls again,

Worthy of not turning my life plain.

Bittersweet, bittersweet, my cinnamon rolls' strain.

cinnamon roller,

Andri Kurniawan