American piano
And I touch the table with one hand.
Strange afternoon,
And a desire that has fled far away.
Dust, great confusion, a gray living room,
In which direction will I chase the
Dust from my thoughts? And how many mysteries
With the few powers that my condition gives me.
A little stale air,
That window should be opened wide .
The canvas is ruined,
And the frame is all worn out.
Dust, too many memories, it's better to be deaf.
And maybe it's already too late to remove the
Dust from the gears , from the faces of the wise
With the few advantages that my condition gives me.
Do not look for me, because you will not recognize me

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