Actualizado: may 12
My hyms on October felt cold in your hand
Dry ink on the stereo, dry tears in my face.
For you were rhytm of the night and I lived in a silent place,
our melody and chords would always ran.
I don’t know my rhymes yet you keep my poems
Don't hide your lips in my head, I might go ahead and break them
Some subtle light of the moon can keeps us from falling through
But a flaming forest can’t be put out by the blues
Maybe if I leave this crying forever,
Or perhaps if I breed a seed of taller trees,
Or even go and sing on silk made of broken tears.
Who I am and who I could become could just be memories, some more thoughts I’ll never reagain.
But November came and fade away,
another december goes and I'm still falling.
A guess of mystery whispers on our straying,
It'll be winter even if spring comes,
and I‘ll still play my hyms of fall.