What mountain is the mountain from which the sun shines on your hand, the fountain of the cloud of sacrifice on your chest, you sleep, in which green bay that is deep but clear, like a clean and bright mirror, kind as a dream, I wish I knew from the beginning that you have a key in the chest of your heart for the always closed doors, I wish I knew from the beginning that you have a balm for the wound of this always tired of you, a simple but astonishing resemblance of enthusiasm. I am repeating you, when I reach the end, you reach the bridge on the whirlpool of doubt, you pass me from the river, you take me from the river to the sun, I wish I knew from the beginning that you have a key in the chest of your heart for the always closed doors, I wish I knew from the beginning that you have a balm for the wound of this always tired in
which mountain the sun shines from your hand, the fountain of the cloud of sacrifice on your chest. I wish I knew from the beginning that you have a key in your heart chest for always closed doors, I wish I knew from
the beginning that you have a balm for the wounds of your
noble hands, I wish I knew from the beginning that you have a key in your hearts chest for always closed
