It's not now,
that the buds are about to hatch.
The rain didn't stop,
to work.
Like a slaughtered animal,
not so downcast.
Of troubled night,
where you tell me,
that your reveries have returned to me.
In some time,
you will tell me,
you will tell me.
In some time,
you will tell me.
When the horses run,
run,
run and fall.
and fall.
I feel that your steps,
crackle in the snow.
that your cheeks
are pinkish.
And you take the torch,
even if only,
to give it,
to a few sirens,
waiting for you with their wide hips.
In some time,
you will tell me,
you will tell me.
In some time,
you will tell me.
When the horses run,
run,
run and fall.
and fall,