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The words were wasps
And the streets like dunes
When I still wait for you to arrive
In a coffin I keep your touch and a crown
With your tangled hair
Wanting to find an infinite rainbow
My hands that are still made of bone
And your belly tastes like bread
The cathedral is your body
You were summer and a thousand storms
I, the lion who smiles at the walls
That I have painted the same color again
I can't tell the difference between kisses and roots.
I can't distinguish between the complicated and the simple.
And now you're on my list of promises to forget.
Everything burns if you apply the right spark
The fire that was sometimes one's own
The ash is always foreign
White sperm slipping
Through the spine
We're older and more sincere now, so what?
If we look at the "gap"
What do they call the eternity of absence?
I can't tell the difference between kisses and roots.
I can't distinguish between the complicated and the simple.
And now you're on my list of promises to forget.
Everything burns if you apply the right spark
The right spark
The right spark
The right spark
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