O nosso destino
que me roubou horas
à luz
de que nunca te quiseste separar
guardavas
ao anoitecer
"We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep." The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158
O nosso destino
alienating myself
from what future corpse
i may be
fleeing myself
from the murder of the self
wicked man's nature- I defy
with magic
Into a restless place where you reborn, shredding the skin
as old as their values
no valuable lightness is here to bare
no truth is at your pace
the passion waves
raging waves
like revelations coming along
I came here to face it
all my grief forsaken
and let it flow
through oblivion
destiny's son
mother nature's son
the lesser men's son
with my feet over this ground
crossing a fiery path to Utopia
the waves talking to us still, very still
in a strange serenity of the will
seven folded tales
of the untold dream
furthermore, in devil's lore
they claim that your romance is new
but the hurling flame is ancient
hunger that blows through our framed innocence
and caresses you in native soils, a riddle of vast blue horizons
binding through all sundown pleasures
that comes and goes everyday
only to unravel this race
its all your inspiration you have for now
in all your might
perform the play
you re alive
greeting hours from the horizons to you
out of this space we aspire now
haunted by delight
restlessly we aspire again
for you
to go where you shall sing to me
as a pray
your new chanson d' hiver