The kids that play, in the spring dusk
a faraway yell;
The wind that words, through roses’ lips,
Whispers and stays.
The open windows that breath the hours,
My empty room,
A train coming from an unknown land,
My lost dreams.
Bells that fade away,
And the night that keeps falling on the city,
On people’s faces,
On the sky’s mirror,
Now on my whole life.