In an ancient country, below a bell tower,
while April surrenders the first ray of sun on your skin.
Or at a station while, amidst the people,
you watch them looking for a destination.
You're at the centre and every single thing seems to surround you.
You're before me and all the rest is just in the background.
You're the only thing in full colours
while the rest is in black and white.
The only thing that remains in focus
when I'm not wearing glasses.
At the flea market on a Sunday morning
while one by one you flick through lives in other people's clothes.
Or in a downpour, watching you dance with your arms open
and your eyes closed, smiling at your fate.
You're at the centre and every single thing seems to surround you.
You're before me and all the rest is just in the background.
You're the only thing in full colours
while the rest is in black and white.
The only thing that remains in focus
when I'm not wearing glasses.
You're at the centre and every single thing seems to surround you.
You're before me and all the rest is just in the background.
At the centre... of my centre.
My centre.
My centre.