The friend and I lost inside a wind
Of birds that change seasons
In a path of thin trees
And warm patches of sun
A priest and his black skirt< br/>They fly happily behind a ball...
The friend and I wait for the car
And they all wait alone together
And the girls laugh freshly
Like bouquets of salad
A line on the blue skin of the sky
And heads raised like sunflowers...
The friend and I at the end of the line
Of lonely and sleepy people
And the pensioners fold the newspaper
Big butt and calves
Women at the market stalls
Pieces of thin and colored fabric...
The friend thinks of his home
In a month he must go away
And in every corner lived
You leave a thorn of nostalgia...
Tomorrow we will lengthen our steps
Each one behind the luck
And we will launch looks and stones
To catch the moon...
Tomorrow we will have another face
And a city waiting outside
And we will hold each other in our arms
Leftovers loves...
The friend and I and a little bar
Of happy, bored, bitter boys
The last tail of a stray
Among the construction sites of new buildings
A teacher plays in the courtyard
Smaller than her pupils...
The friend and a single window
To contain the whole world
And a wardrobe with mirrors
With the paper and the memories put inside
He calms his heart with his hand
It becomes round as a result of using it...
The friend puts on the coffee
And deep down he knows inside himself
That he will never be the same again
He studies his shoes and the street where he is...
Tomorrow there will be other people
Different eyes and voices
And a heart to mark the slow hours
And the fast years...
Tomorrow we will go a little faster
We will catch our breath
Inside another cigarette
And tomorrow is over...

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