Oh my my baby, my little one
How romantic it could be to climb the sky
Walking on a stair of stars
That shining blue
And build a hamac of clouds
Between the south and the north of the half-Moon
And love you, again and again, and again and again
I hang my head like a snowflake-man in a burning Sun
Because I'm my own ghost
I'm really dead this time
I'm dead like the corpse in their six feet under graves
How romantic it could be
To climb the sky
In a hamac made of clouds
In a hamac made of clouds
Hamac made of clouds
My little one
Yes, the hamac made of clouds
My baby, my little one
My baby, my little one
A hamac made of clouds
