The idea of a bouquet of flowers faded, as the fire that I'd saved for the weekend of that month that is so special to me. The pebbles I threw at the windows, suddenly some of them, came back and poke me reminding me how foolish I was to have let them set aside to scratch my road with coal ... coals make dirty stains, but only the stones leave the scars that need ...
You left marks on me, traumas. Only.
It wasn’t what I was looking, but the rush I had to slip away of my problems resulted in our meeting, so no chance, no way, no whys...
The worse thing is that the stain of coal is boring to clean, it looks like pervades ... seems that passes through the skin and crusting in the soul, because, as much I've cleaned me of you, of your poison I’m not still able to escape ...
I want to get you of me ... I want to pull you shaply of my soul, get out dirty stain, get out dark part.
You evolved of dust for a coal, but as rock I’ll never let you to become in me.
A scar you’d never cause on me, you're just this impregnation that makes me sick.
Too bad it did me well, too bad that the fire is over.
Now I see you as embers off, which I want to step to remember the pain you used to cause.
As much as I have allowed, I liked it.
The flowers wilted, the candles turned into wax, the short fuse (of infinity it’s alive by faith), the tears dried up, the clock never stopped ... all came to an end, but even so, I still can’t get this stain you left on me.
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