The music gives me flashbacks of memories that never existed:
I remember the future; that never was.
I created you: with the gift of sand from the god's homeland ad a kiss, from Eternity.
Granite
The music gives me the words I need: unspoken.
I shaped you: invisible as air, as valuable, painful, appreciated as oxygen for an asthmatic.
Our conversations lie, the only alibi to their existence: the moon.
Voices that never existed in the dance between trebles and clefs
The music tells the melancholy of fairytales dreamt,
You become a fragment of my imagination, created, sketched, painted and finally sung.
The idea of you as absurd as a warm February in this city of crying imprudents,
Sade, zaki, esthero, lani hall,the ladies that accompany my lunacy:
And this is why I cannot blame you.
The bread that has molded on the day of your dire hunger cannot hold the blame for its impotence:
Even though once upon a time it could have, would have, savedyou....
It is simply past its time
