A little bit of music to perfect the contours.
His heart opens itself perpetually to her as it’s her own.
It’s his, and he offers it without return on a detour.
But he often dies when she ran down other paths.
Let us join hands by indulging in as much time as possible,
Let us offer to each one by showing all the sorrow available.
O despair at the counter!
What is this burglar
Who mulls his ritornello?
The most beautiful creature of the Lord,
So prodigious, so marvelous,
Returns a black mirror.
What is this fear? Him, he only hates himself.
Sometimes he thinks they are more alike than she thinks;
Or is it his spirit that plays tricks on him, O love?
Time collapses and flows away from the crowd.
He’s just trying to live, and he wants her to be part of it.
Because if she’s gone; how can he find harmony?