The blinds of memory
are made of sweet wood,
which today, open, let the passing utopia run in the air.
The bahules of the past,
leave see how it is played,
and killing without accounting for sin,
the child sleeps peacefully during his nap.
And he falls asleep (I don't want to sleep),
turning around ( a child lives in me),
because his world is as beautiful as he says
(I don't want to close my eyes).
And he doesn't understand (And I trust you)
of problems (He will let me live),
it is spinning (I don't want to close my eyes)
in carousels of innocence.
Sleep,
feel that the past only passes and does not It leaves,
it lives latently its beauty.
It sleeps,
it feels that the past only passes and does not go away,
it lives latently its beauty.
And it falls asleep ( I don't want to sleep),
spinning around (a child lives in me),
because his world is as beautiful as it says
(I don't want to close my eyes).
And does not understand (And I trust you)
of problems (He will let me live), sleep (I don't want to sleep),
turning around (a child lives in me),
because his world is as beautiful as he says
(I don't want to close my eyes).
And he doesn't understand (And I trust you)
of problems (He will let me live),
it is spinning (I don't want to close my eyes)
in carousels of innocence.
Sleep,
feel that the past only passes and does not leave,
lives its beauty latent.
Sleep,
feels that the past only passes and does not leave,
lives latent...
Sleep,
feels that the past only passes and does not go away,
that the past only passes and does not go away,
that the past only passes and it doesn't go away...

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