My love, not everytime everything goes the good way:
but that's not only due to the bad weather
if the crop was lost.
And it's funny how sometimes time goes by
better than expected: an impending panic
forces us to domesticate
a fervent smile, a sudden wellbeing.
Is it that a distant hope, happiness ?
Enjoying the sun in December, not so far from here it snows.
Not so far from here, people devises breathless races
(being) prey to the anxiety to go back to the starting point, and forgets
the weight of the stakes, and (the) how and (the) when, while it's raining outside.
My love, is not a fault if you don't know how to manage the joy
and the fact of being at ease inside pain and resignation.
And it's unnatural how we sometime force ourselves to ignore
the constant groan of our real inclinations: the margin of error of an incessant subtraction.
Is it that a distant hope, happiness ?
Enjoying the sun in December, not so far from here it snows.
Not so far from here, people ostentates obscure eccentricities
(being) preys to the anxiety to impress, they wear their masks
and forget that of the courage in the time of (their) relaunch.
Not so far from here it snows.
Not so far from here it snows.