-    
- cifra   
 
   There floats our conversation
 
 Like clouds in our minds
 
 We leave an open invitation
 
 To this world we've denied
 
  
  If I turn around
 
 Would that be my fault
 
 If I turn around
 
 Would that be my loss
  
 
 Feel the raindrops of impression
 
 Stinging from above
 
 What the price of this confusion
 
 We have yet to speak of
  
 
 Out of sight beyond confusion
 
 Still I'm here defining my own truth
 
 Paranoia by conclusion
 
 What's the point if I am still missing you