When the flowers dont come, the
ride doesnt come, the
mountains and the desert, what is it,
when the rain
doesnt come, the winter cloud doesnt come,
what is all this gutter, what is now,
in the silent hand
of our stick, poetry and sonnet, the
story of death, affection,
good sleep, hugging each other,
as if we are strangers to each other
, its good, we are enmity,
I wish you and I would have understood
, he was gone, it
was the fault of these
stories, it was the fault of these enemies
, if it wasnt for night
, its the dawn of today. He was with us, no one understands my words, he is dead
, he is alive, he is asleep, he is awake, he does not understand that
I am alone, and he does not steal from me, he does
not understand our pain, he does not understand our pain in the door and the wall,
because of my loneliness, my heart burns today
, my heart is emptier than yesterday,
my fall is in myself,
our fall is like mine
, the death of childhood days
from day to night,
enmity or tragedy,
our fall is the tragedy of death, the tragedy of death,
the voice, the tragedy, the tragedy, the
truth
, the fault of
this story. It
was the fault of these enemies
, they would have been with us if it wasnt for the night
.
