Las preguntas
RaizArbol
The Questions
How many people cry on the edge
Clean, drowning, feeling down
And don’t know when to stop?
How many pretty moons will you see now
With no clouds to hide them
Gray, black, without extra rain?
And to fly, is to fly
How many still minds always shrink
Slowly, falling gently
With no way back to the storm?
How many cliffs have been attempted
By many?, even if imaginary
Decadent, they come to scare us
And to fly, is to fly
How many are questions?, how many riddles?
If it’s the same to be part of nothing
And without wings it’s hard to take off
What’s the dilemma within the spectrum?
If it’s different to give up
Than to know I’m going to win
And to fly, is to fly
How much internal war is there with oneself?
