This afternoon the wind brings the smell
that is noticeable in some woods,
or maybe it is that I start to
think
about your hair when you let it down
and It emits such a particular aroma that I have only been able to find again in the breath that winter has brought closer here. To hint at the eve of spring ±os
with the air of yesteryear that always
lasts.
When I am waiting for you
when I find an
infinite morning on the way to
lengthen
like a cold season that
stays on my back
until the afternoon settles in
in me, it warms my desire
that's why I like it and I like to
say it
the afternoon in your eyes
has an old air.
(CHORUS)
Is it really February or is it me
who It hangs on the wind
like your breath
sometimes I close my eyes. because I hate
to look, that the balm I breathe
so avidly is the wind and nothing more.
And sometimes I forget it but something reminds me
and I think about it again and I say to myself
where do I have you?
where are you not?
where can I look at
without having to have you find.
The light of the world leaves at 7
and I am just beginning to see well
as it pulls into the dark, I walk
thinking that I follow your shadow
at the same time as a rustle of loose leaves. He whispers
incomplete sentences and sometimes
he even asks about you.
(CHORUS)
The wind this afternoon brings the
rumor of your voice that is lost to
br/>the lazy light of the sun and
I imagine you lying down, turning off the
light of the lamp.
In the same way that
I look at the afternoon sun when it sets
/>lie down has an air to you
and I look at the last sun of the
afternoon as he lies down, with a certain air to you by the way
with a certain air to you.
br/>

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