Whatever my home is better than being with you The end of the life of this soul When I am with every breath I am from this land When I get upset with a linguistic wound This is the end of this way to die alone I just have to go to the west Finally My silence is not a sign of satisfaction. You know my complaint you can read from my eyes Say what I have to burn I dont say anything to let me go In my sonnet, I have a guitar He wrote to the luck The look that your love wrote my fate Curse me curse you to my love and you to my simple and that black heart Curse the love of lover curse and wrote the luck to you
