Scraps of paper, they get lost at sea,
winds that carry on a course set by chance.
How white is yesterday,
how sad the yet to come,
full of questions that don´t reach their end.
Who directs the air,
who breaks the leaves
of those palm trees
that cry?
Who manages the time
that they lose, all alone,
who knits the nets that suffocate them?
I will sail the pain,
a rudderless ship,
carrying the memories of the life that it left.
The sky, green and gray,
the marble-coloured snow
fall over the dream
that once could live.
But who directs the air,
who breaks the leaves
of those palm trees that cry?
Who manages the time
that they lose, all alone,
who knits the nets that suffocate them?