How do we allow to die in the midst of our soul blossoming ?
How do we not cry anymore, nor we think that the sky is more wonderful that all the things we’ve invented?
Where are my days when I painted my mind with dancing thoughts?
I die and come alive every day and think to myself: What is one for if not for rising up again and again?
What is one for if not for breaking pieces from the soul and share it with the world?
Although, I know how bad was the struggle to grow and to work and how weeping seemed endlessly some days, I can not even decide if today I am a better person.
Does it even matter?
If I let that quitar play me ’till morning after I’ve cried the previous night or if I laugh at it a day after?
Hell, I should have worked a little more instead.
My questions take a lifetime to be answered and I ain’t gonna wait to find the answers so I can start loving again.
Watch me going to collect more and more until I go mad and die and come alive again.
Let the old songs answer me instead.
My time has come to be again the reckless, the misunderstood, with gold flames springing for my deep.
Life has just begun.