You are not and your voice is the good air of this house, the sound of the feet of the flower perfume is the sound of crazy love, you are far away from me and I miss you in the village and I am Viron The story has always been one laugh and one cry
The story has always been this in one moment, in a visit, a wound from the poison, a smile all my life only once after that, the wound after that, habit and repetition but half You are not a ghost here , you are not on your own wall, your voice is gone, your voice has made my eyes cry, my heart is on the ground, only this is left of you, my dear breath is the sound of the feet of the night, the sound of the wind
and the smell of palms, the sultry air in the sea of silence, here is the sound of your air, here your air is full of repetition of this word, my heart is always a strait for you,
this has always been the story, or the death of the story, or the person at the bottom of the lakes of love .The fountains of sorrow are always love, it means the cloud of sunset and the strangeness of the rain, you are not in me, the poetic boiling of the voice of that soulless lips , you are not your own voice, your voice has left my eyes on the ground, only you are
not yourself , your voice has left my eyes and my heart is on the ground, only this is left of you.
