Suddenly, you aren't here - nothing more happened
fetal drunkenness that your death left me.
With this song that sobs, forgotten of me,
I wander in your woods.
I would like to explain you my love, not your absence
or my faults; yesterday you were alive.
If I don't deserve to sing for you,
I ask you: Don't keep dying.
The last time, that light party,
where there was a hidden box,
a key locked up in the wall,
an ear in the shadow, nobody's secret.
That time and you, the one I knew,
what I wanted to be, clavichord and alcohol,
sensitive and brutal, the past and the piano,
ended in this silence.
If I don't deserve to sing for you,
I would like to explain to you my love, even though it's late.
Your time passes, but I stayed here,
tolling for you, in your bells.
A bell of a pastor in a distant land,
a smooth stone that the down and the sky touched;
I am like your sea, rolling eternally
towards you and, since it is to you, then rolling more deeply.
The more while I look to find you in things,
the more you will return without me calling or forgetting you,
I ask you that you remove my bitter pain;
please, don't keep dying.
You will be father, as my father was,
a gamete in a closed space of time,
a loud snore of an already muted organ,
there you are, a long pine tree box.
The weeping that name, your name will be
brief and a man, maybe you knew;
but so much love is demanding my love;
please, don't keep dying.