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Poetry, more a folk rhythm.

There will be a day when I can no longer look into your eyes

I can no longer dare to breathe your scent

of old books and fresh ink

Why

I'll be too busy to say In

of hate.

There will be a day when you will need to understand that it can not be

Not here, not in your arms I call

As I walk to forget

With names that I would not

So, hate me.

And when all is past

Nothing more to say I do not want to hear

I'll be able to make me hate

was a beautiful day, I will remember forever under When a drawer

try il modo di caricare la luna

Senza un’idea geniale accanto

Senza volermi perdonare

Son io che mi odio, non tu, baby