May your white swans dream of crystal lakes,
but don't trust the sea which chases and tempts us.
Spaces are dreamt of by an invisible strength to whom
the sunflowers bow
do you see, turned to the forgotten days
in the darkness?
You're loved by three worlds you're being burned by three fires. And we're
walking before the hope which is being chased by
wandering deserts.
We're the ones who made everything up and wound up alone,
oh woman of holy marble the white solace they're
praying to.
On the sonant coasts where the ancient sea ends
you forebode with a heart of stone: the air is a big miracle.
May the sun's beauty last until the very last dream, up
towards the tops which lost our trace. But don't easily
trust that sea which chases and tempts us.
Dream of crystal lakes in the dark.
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