I will lose myself as those sleepless, nights are lost. As the swallows fly uncertainly in their freedom. Thus, like the breath drowned in a puddle of muddy tears between slopes whipped by a harsh winter. I’ll get lost on those dead end streets in the midst of a time without stay. Suffering soul
From afar he looked like a man
It was a shadow in the form of a man
From afar he looked like a poet, It was a form of man, with the voice of a poet, In the light he looked like an angel
In the dark
Come! Come my love!
The sound of the night falls towards the earth. The pastures surround us with their white moans. Again we walk the bare earth. And we keep the secret. A word wrapped in unreality. My lost sunflowers are from autumn. When they wither in the shadow of the cliffs.