Time,
has always been keeping me on the clock...

I have not repeated myself as much as before...
When I wrote, the repetition seemed to repeat...

Tears were blooming like roses,
Born from the roots of pain...

Where has my imagination gone?
It used to be like bees...

I never imagine that some kind of physical pain
could make me feel like an old turtle...

It's fine
fine is the weather outside...

In an empty desk with a burning mesh,
wax drips like thorns...

Oh pain that in me reside,
Won't you leave my loving heart...

Words, they are just letters,
and letters are just points...

On Christmas times, the stores become like church:
Too crowded, full of prayers, and of songs...

God sees the heart of man
like an emptied jar of glass...

Oh moon, full with pride,
Strolling through the sky at night...