You and I, the night traveler to the city of the sun, tired of this journey, under the shadows of doubt, the greenery of our farm, we were left by the dry hand of the wind , in the city mercilessly, we died of sorrow, there was no one to come
back, if I had wings and feathers, I would have returned, if I had not left myself here
, there is no familiar look for our alienation , people are colorful, but no one is our shape, although we are in the crystal garden, but the sex. We are not glass, we broke the water with our paper in our hands, it
was the air of my return, if I had wings and feathers, I would have returned, I would not have left myself here.
What is the souvenir for me and when we return from here, break the barrier of the night, until we reach tomorrow morning , we can sing together again, the poem of liberation will be full of screams, our throats would be the place of hatred and silence of
the air of my return, if I had wings and feathers, I would come back, if I did not leave myself here.
