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I kissed the fingers that touched my face.
I have such sad songs and tales.
You wouldn’t care; they are old songs.
Yours truly, xxx.

Outside, the rain is gathering
This is an old song that I sing
There is dust in the air. The rain is stinging.
Each drop breaks the flowers. When there is no desire,
I am hidden in the rain.
I am holding my hands over my eyes,
they are stinging.
If I cannot see I cannot feel. It is an old song
The storm comes and the dust rises above your hair,
I am singing, a lost silence, and a silent discord.

Go towards the forest, farewell now to your conscience
The blaze is in my eyes,
It gives me no satisfaction.
I, I am inside. Inside the groaning trees,

This is not a dream again, this is real, and I am here.
Outside. In the shelter of your eyes. Let me kiss the sky. Give me an old song. A forgotten tale.

Help me find the raindrops that fall on your hair,
I want to see them melt or freeze, I do not care.
You should not care either
For this is an old song.

There is no plastic here.

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