Solo Un Poco

Eyes are windows, tearful portals of a earthly wander.
Tender winks of a wounded animal, fresh lotuses on open eyelids.
We are all children of the ebb and flow. Hunter hunted, warm moan.
Sleeping heralds of a trembling touch, barrier in the sound, bird without north.
Laughter is the torrent that when it falls high reverberates the soul.
Comet tail in laughter that swirls, that eternally disperses you for moments.
We are all children of the ebb and flow. Hunter hunted, warm moan.
Windows open to the night's dampness, centers of universes, spring dolls.
If I have to be sincere and you listen to me, I will tell you that today I feel a little lonely.
Just a little. If I have to be honest, today I feel a little lonely. Just a little.
And there are so many today in an instant...
A broken past is nothing. In the end you realize it was never whole at all.
You know about the mood swings, how quickly the years pass, the crawl of obligations,
how short-lived the brilliant moments are.
We are all children of the ebb and flow. Hunter hunted. Warm moan.
If I have to be sincere I will tell you that today I feel a little lonely. Just a little. If I have to be honest.
You know that the days barely give us time for a hurried life.
You know we had wings, that the present is already past,
that you can camp at the foot of the mountains and make a white fire by a lake.