We are foreigners for a long time,
What is to be said,
Like the stones that land on the ground,
In life we have occupied a place.
Towards each other we have closed
All roads and paths,
As two medieval cities
With walls, spears and clamps.
But at night, when the tired brain,
I close the gates quietly,
You find a path and get inside,
A path that only you know.
Then like in the alleys of parks,
The state between circuses,
It enters through careless dreams,
Fanny, laugh, do it by hand.
But as the morning approaches,
You start worrying suddenly,
And it quietly goes out
From the path that comes out of you
The day is coming. Life goes on again.
And we both like before
It is cold and invincible
As two medieval cities.
