Those tattered footsteps of her
and that freckled face
I tried to cover them with ink
to make her happy once more,
...
She had giants following her scented footsteps,
and worlds of murderous blue, creating words of love
outside her heart.
But she loved no one that loved her.
...
Eroina mea, tu esti zapada ce-mi tulbura vara
si-mi atinge soarele cu un simplu sarut
pana la punctul egoist de a-l stinge ca pe o biata lumanare,
la lumina careia obisnuiam sa-mi scriu scrisorile de dragoste, dedicate tie,
...
You did something to me,
You made me the poet
of you
forcing me to dip the pen in my heart
...
Plucking my heroine's wings with their ruthless pliers,
the world undresses her heart of love
like an insane sun that burns a delicate flower.
In the room of the mute people
...
I am searching for you,
in the poems of others,
as mine, are flawed, and you are not.
But I still write, I did not stop,
...
I've been sailing
in a bottle of wine,
drunken
on the poems of
...
Let's dance next year,
you and me and Debussy
somewhere outside
so everybody can see
...
And then the monsters,
they all gathered in my house
to see the people I named my friends
feast on the dreams in my soul
...
Somewhere there is a place
where a lovely girl writes love letters
between four walls, a ceiling and a floor,
and somewhere there is a park
...