Always on the edge: cold and humidity,
it is the custom of so much darkness.
Strips of rain, a naked soul
and this hollow solitude.
Baths of doubts, so much bitterness .
Cry, calm down, cry.
More is always so much more
new air to breathe.
And you get confused again,
in front of a abyss to feel
the miserable pressure.
Your hands tremble until they die,
with your gaze so gray,
as if whistling goodbye.
Stop!
What do you do with your skin?
Stop!
Always on the edge: yesterday's crossword puzzles.
You submerge your dreams between alcohol
and bread or pleasure.
Always the past, such a strange game
between shoulds and whys.
It's something silly, old autumns
that no longer let you be.
And it always remains so much more
new air to breathe.
And you get confused again,
in front of an abyss you feel
the miserable pressure.
Your hands tremble until they die,
with such a gray look,
like whistling goodbye.
Stop!
What are you doing with your skin?
Stop!
And you get confused again,
in front of an abyss you feel
the miserable pressure.
Your hands shake until they die,
with your gaze so gray,
like whistling goodbye.
Fear consumes you,
runs through your veins,
burns your desire to defeat him.
And the more you think about it
you will know It's not the door,
Never let go of your faith.
Stop!
What are you doing with your skin?
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
Think again...
There is always so much more...

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