In the distance, we could see
The tracks of the factories tearing the velvet of the sky
I sat down, someone was vacuuming the corridor that led to death
I thought about your face for a long time,
My head was bleeding, someone must have beaten me long
The rain was falling on a torn photograph
Drops of blood were falling from a drain
The room was poorly lit, you could hear the roar of the water
I waited in a silence of hopelessness
For the water to finish shredding my photograph
And I prayed that you would remember me.

A sound of tearing
The night that never ends
And on the smooth surface of the river of my memories,
Some strange voices, like flags,
A look back, the sound of hope
A last dance; a ferry that stops,
The joy of reunion.

A sound of torn paper, a
Noise of the room the public rose a
Day will come in this night
This night that never ends –
I will go to seek your voice, in the lapse of memory of my name,
I will seek your glance, in a serene city.

I will be this bird, and then this river,
I will be this breath on the ocean and this tragic moment
This smiling child, this calm feeling,
When you let go of my hand, and sink into the mist.

A ripping sound, the prison went out
The lights spattered on the night like blood on the slabs
I smoothed the clouds through the bars of my bruised palm,
The wind in my ears whispered a ballad
I hummed cheerlessly, my fingers were frozen.

A sound of tearing
The night that never ends

A sound of torn paper, a
Day will come in this night,

I will stand in the last sobs of the wind
I will seek your gaze in the oblivion of my fate,
I will be this ocean, and then this river
This proud mountain, this smiling child,
This calm breath, the wind on the back of my hand
When you forget me far away already, and sink into the wind.

As you travel through the valleys, the meadows lush with light,
Beyond my prison freed,
I prayed that my face
In a corner of your soul, would be like a bell
That would ring whenever you think of the golden evening

I prayed that in your sleep beyond my life,
Your hand would crumple the paper of pale dreams
And that you would remember at last, that at the end of the night
Someone was waiting for you and held out his hand.