I come tired of singing in the fog,
on the highway near the sea there are gypsies
They're performing an ignored ritual
my own gods aren't here, mirages.
A whirlwind mixes the kisses and the absence,
pagan images get naked in dreams.
In the mirror, traveling reflexes,
a sentimental blackout, the route pass.
Returns the desire and the anxiety of this body,
my mouth wants to pronounce the silence.
A whirlwind mixes the kisses and the absence,
pagan images get naked in dreams.