And from the countenance
Of the ridiculous suspended on the ground,
From the window behind the curtains,
The broken key stares at itself
Lost as free grains of sand
In your hand with the wind
In the fall's laughter,
The night's clock alters
With the dog's old bark
Reversed and unquiet portrait of myself
Imaginary of the inexistent coincidence
Neither can I find my inner
Where should I certainly be!
I return with an incoherent late ticking
To the frozen street
Without knocking at the door
Despising any company,
Inside her nobody can be found
Inflaming me to one more promenade
Through the night
In a night without magic
Thoughtless among the fields of the memory
Maybe lost
Hurt by the dilemma that refreshes the pain,
Which has carried me until here!
Tempting me with a challenge
A moan of a hunted relief
By the kiss in which I get rid of myself
Excited by time In loneliness received