The Front Windows As Are The Watchmen

We Want To Be, When We Are Young, A Little Man. I Would Like To Be A Big Child, Stronger And Fairer Than A Man, And More Lucid Than A Child.

She Is Standing On My Lids And Her Hair Is In My Hair She Has The Colour Of My Eye She Has The Body Of My Hand In My Shade She Is Engulfed As A Stone Against The Sky She Will Never Close Her Eyes And She Does Not Let Me Sleep And Her Dreams In The Bright Day Make The Suns Evaporate And Me Laugh Cry And Laugh Speak When I Have Nothing To Say

All My Desires Are Born Of My Dreams. And I Have Proven My Love With Words. To What Fantastic Creatures Have I Entrusted Myself, In What Dolorous And Ravishing World Has My Imagination Enclosed Me? I Am Sure Of Having Been Loved In The Most Mysterious Of Domains, My Own. The Language Of My Love Does Not Belong To Human Language, My Human Body Does Not Touch The Flesh Of My Love. My Amorous Imagination Has Always Been Constant And High Enough So That Nothing Could Attempt To Convince Me Of Error.

The Curve Of Your Eyes Goes Around My Heart, A Round Of Dance And Sweetness, Halo Of Time, Nocturnal And Safe Cradle, And If I Don't Know Any More All That I've Lived Through It's Because I Haven't Always Been Seen By You.

The Front Windows As Are The Watchmen Of Grief - I've Been Looking Beyond Expectation - Beyond Myself - And I Do Not Know As I Love You - Which One Of Us Is Missing.