The one is naked in the dark, 

the other exhausted in the fullness of night... 

the father of the father of one resembles the son of his son. 

First he broke the jug, then he mourned. 

As things move along, the miller shapes the weather, 

the wheat becomes flour, and the flour becomes bread.  
 


The wind was in a window, open to the song of a bird. 

In spite of the colors chosen, all was black... 

It is not clear it is spring.  
 


Carried away, the eyes of a cat 

spin in the streets of Paris. 

In faraway places, stairs allow 

those with white hair to climb highest... 

nearby, the stairs descend into the depths, 

their sides torn up. 

People with faces worn out from the cold 

knew in advance that "the shadows are never honest."  

 

Tomorrow, a full heart will diminish clarity. 

Cries will spill and spread everywhere, 

sorrows will obscure the roses. 

Walls of fear will rise up in front of windows 

and doors will open with difficulty. 

Crystal clear sky will not be shared 

and gulls caressing the seas will fall 

on images, on feet.  
 


The one is naked in the dark, 

the other exhausted in the fullness of night... 

the father of the father of one resembles the son of his son. 

First he broke the jug, then he mourned. 

As things move along, the miller shapes the weather, 

the wheat becomes flour, and the flour becomes bread.  

 

The wind was in a window, open to the song of a bird. 

In spite of the colors chosen, all was black... 

It is not clear it is spring.  
 


Tomorrow, a full heart will diminish clarity. 

Cries will spill and spread everywhere, 

sorrows will obscure the roses.