I feel you far away like the word decoration
and I am a succulent dish for anxiety
your noise is not percussion on the skin of an animal
it's metal against a scaffold
Losing your balance is a matter of hearing
Every now and then I need your hand on my face
Sometimes I do it myself and I imagine it's you
or a person who does not love me, loves me
The difference is for fools and I am one
I no longer know how to ask, I said and I was wrong
I give, that's the way
Soon I will stop seeing in the clarity that blinds me
and your light will no longer be the same
I'll still be a misfit
I am not more important than your lovers
I can guess what your cards say
My land is the dream, there
I don't know how to speak, certainty is a diamond
I am of another plumage
I'm leaving little by little.