Misty days, no white pictures
drawn in the sky
and no clouds going by
Everything around us
seems to be wet cotton
that the Sun can't break
to warm us down
However, the fog fights
to come inside
and my heart defeats itself
from melancholy and sadness
Like an unconquered castle,
my life depends upon
this fight
So, I'm playing music
the angel's song
the earth voice
the heart beatings
I'm playing the words to meet
the poem and embrace
the air that fills everything
the time and the space
we have in between
In these poor days
we use to close ourselves
in dark thoughts
that occasionally arrive
But like the seagulls
that visit the town
we should go outside us
and play music all around
cause this dress of tiny clouds
protects us from
everybody's curious eyes
I like these poor days
that wrap us in poetry
and self protection
in our most comfortable place
to find love
in a solid and soft embrace
Poesia açucarada, a minha...
Bom ano novo a quem passar...
