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Only an idea, only an image is all that separates us from life, only a handshake that takes us back on our path, made of dreams and present, made of encounters with people.
Made of habits and bills to pay, grenades, vacuum cleaners and dinner to prepare, a family a few children and then, an occasional exit where we find our intent, happy, we let our feelings go.
Simple words would be enough to leave a little nostalgia in the heart, until I get to you, my thoughts sway, to always know you here, I see the blue paint inside me and the clouds in the sky fly together with the wind.
We hide paradise every day when it would be enough to give yourself a sincere smile, as sincere as the one drawn on your serious speech, which is not consistent with your desire, which is not consistent with your desire, desire. (X2).
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