They didn't know the sea
and they craved it so sadly
that on TV, birds from Portugal
without course nor bird seed
nor papers.
He told her let's go,
where responded to him
crying,
far from the high altar,
on a terribly poor sailing boat
in a bottle.
Take off the indigo
fold of the tuberose soul
jacket.
Return to me the month of April,
they were called Abélard and Héloïse,
bastard archangels of haste.
They illuminated the morning dying of cold,
they wrapped themselves up with a good sense of delirium
yours and mine back at home,
how empty anxiety leaves.
How much shame their parents will have.
Without wings to fly,
deserters from secondary school,
and in the bed, birds from Portugal,
barely two minutes
bad name.
Later the Civil Guard
seized their effort
and their smile, the postcards from Estoril
without lodging, without defence
and without visa.
They were called Abélard and Héloïse.
They swam underwater against Everest
and they were drowned,
nobody taught them how to deserve
the support from the Virgin of Solitude,
how small is the light from the lighthouse
They swam underwater against Everest
and they were drowned,
nobody taught them how to deserve
the support from the Virgin of Solitude,
how small is the light from the lighthouse
of whom dreams of freedom.