sexta-feira, abril 1

another picture of my own

(to those who live in my heart)

a tear drop is flying away;
when i move
my soul is the absence
and there is no reason for this
just a folded heart and an empty pocket
praying for refilling;
when i move
there's always a bird singing
the sounds of nothing;
i can say - my hands
will be always waiting for yours
and my eyes
can always reach yours;
and suddenly
i find love this strange thing between us
which will always keep us together.