It 's a lonely
that awakens the senses of the night
and tramples the geraniums in the morning
that keeps me today more than yesterday
in the tension of "growing up".
The rustle of leaves mimics kisses
enclosed in cardboard tiles
and spicy aromas.
But you can not hear the music?
not feel the breath in my breaks?
not believe in me?
even believed in the Empty Mountain
but then together, the vacuum and the Mountain, where legend
did.
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