What do I do these days?
As I sway in a romantic way
I hear the yellow flower turn
I listen to the woods of the swamps slightly forlorn
The staircase points downward, I am lost
When the cars wheel by the pondering eyed strangers
The shores of oceans don't have legs
A soul hollow as the kind blue flower and fruit
Blossoms in the summer-youth which rots the skin to the shin, losing it's rind

It's a surprise to see
In your ashen coil under a sycamore tree
Where you have lost your lonely virility
Where is your heart these days, my child?
Lost in the vigil of the votive offerings of sunflowers
Till the next time
We will see as the tepid wind swells and boils
The effervescent water coolly blows into my eyes
As I sway in the straits of hasty affairs filmed and tinted in romantic lies, my faithful violet