- cifra
The night cries
Taking this pain
Dying slowly
Murmuring deliriums to the wind
I feel his cold lips
I feel the tears in the silence
Spilling among my hands
As grains of sand
To the womb it comes back like this
To the veil of the mystery it will take
The shine of the old sun
In his light eyes
Walking in the runners of the insanity
In the silence I kept his goodbye
I feel your lips
I feel your lips
Dying slowly
Walking in the runners of the insanity
In the silence I kept his goodbye
