There are moments when inside you is so wintery cold,
your night's secret is flipped over by the death's perfume,
you are in a turn, at one last intersection, but you're old,
wanting to **** the sadness, to let life once more bloom.
There are moments when you are so full of desire,
your destiny seems so cruel and you don't have the will
to heal your dark thoughts, the gloomy fears are on fire
but the cross, you have to carry it on your shoulders. Still.
Moments in which you spice up with nothings your existence,
you're satisfied with dead souls, with the remaining crumbs,
you run to the silence of the crying willow tree, for assistance,
you look at the mad fire from heaven... life hurts, death comes.
Moments when you're in front of the execution squad
without having one more chance to one last discussion,
you think that life is a mask worn in Venice, that it's a fraud,
the sky seems like a wallpaper of demons in combustion.
There are also moments when you want to start over,
to turn the book of anxiety into a beautifully painted panel,
you decide to meet your shadows in the valley of a loner,
thirsty for air, for life, you decide to change the channel.