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it's a minefield, the records you listen to, the books you read, sometimes the films you watch, I often think I've already listened to all the light phrases that you have prepared today too, the time will come for us too to go out in the evening, losing time, trying on clothes in front of the mirror, you choose the records, you sing them sometimes, in front of the mirror you stare at me, probably tonight too we will go out slamming the door. It's a minefield, two steps forward and one foot back, it's a minefield, if only I knew how to walk on tiptoe. Your same speeches that I will have to conclude, intent on dodging old buried mines, proving ourselves wrong, surprising us, surprising us, how many games do we play before we realize that every time we fall we get hurt in a new way. What will we do when the new clothes run out?
The combinations you make, when do you try them on?