I've been out a while. A little time and light as a flower planted jump. A walking back to the calendar, which has led me corredÃas arms and legs at will, like an old puppet, yes, old as the clothing of chance.
I've been away from my own arms, where memory stands as a storm cloud or a tunnel is lost as a pocket in the middle of the night.
I went without rain settled into the cotton of a sun summer, and the yeast was growing back of my intentions. But I'm still on the way back, way and rain fall, long and winding road that I soak the senses with its stormy walls.
If not arrive earlier than I wanted, kindle the lights of the entrance and Wake me with a slight wind of dawn, which will grow and the warmth of your embrace and caress of your rainbow look.
And if you back out an empty hope, a broken mirror, Open to me a gap in the memory, a long corridor running across the sky and achieve invisibility.
Pedro Pablo Diaz Swords
I've been away from my own arms, where memory stands as a storm cloud or a tunnel is lost as a pocket in the middle of the night.
I went without rain settled into the cotton of a sun summer, and the yeast was growing back of my intentions. But I'm still on the way back, way and rain fall, long and winding road that I soak the senses with its stormy walls.
If not arrive earlier than I wanted, kindle the lights of the entrance and Wake me with a slight wind of dawn, which will grow and the warmth of your embrace and caress of your rainbow look.
And if you back out an empty hope, a broken mirror, Open to me a gap in the memory, a long corridor running across the sky and achieve invisibility.
Pedro Pablo Diaz Swords
