How many times, I've cried
through the window
with the cry of the rain
that washes away my early soul.
The drops are whispers,
echoes of time lived,
memories of laughter and shadows,
of a love that has gone.
The sky is dressed in grey,
like a canvas of my sorrows,
while the clouds dance
in a waltz of little souls.
How many times, I have prayed
for the world and its destiny,
for dreams deferred
and for red love divine.
How many times, as evening fell,
my heart has overflowed,
but the rain embraces me
in a song of the sacred.
