Routine

I was born to dream, without fear.
In this night of shining stars,
even more distant than Mars,
of them I will try to come near.

In the fireplace the heat of flames,
in the skies the smoke flies gray,
I will travel for mountains of clay
and over seas of wine from kames.

Painted smile of extreme beauty,
your face remains in my mind,
therefore all pretty things I find,
are a sketch of the beauty in thee.

No matter how you run away from me,
I’ll always be punished by my heart:
to dream of you but to wake up apart
is the saddest thing it could ever be.

Nothing really matters, the night is short.
But the sadness brought by the morning sun
making my sweet dreams of night to run
is the only thing my soul can’t support.

We will do the same every night,
always keeping our hearts spared
until we meet to get prepared
for another night of high flight.