Recycled feelings are not enough for me
to be brave and bold
as the hero that lit your fire and left.
In my bed there's no one I dare to put,
no one but you,
but I can't tell you this
for it would make me weak
and you still want a hero
a white horse, a golden armour
a beautiful and empty shell, Adonis of hypocrisy
so tippical for the modern man.
I'm not that,
I'm old, but not the way you want me to be.
I'm old because I still belive in true love,
the reason I'm still here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem