When you lift me a wing in the wind,
my dreams come from the word
and he feels like petals,
springs running horribly in the valley;
And draw my line of heart to clay,
from this absolute blue sky,
and when your sadness bleeds me,
an apricot bloomed in my left hand.
And you see, only you manage to start,
the fountain of the night to give me stories
And in silver ropes to sun-tilted,
a heaven of stories you have born and tied.
Only now do you know that when my sun rains,
You stuck the broken splinters in two ...
