Verano En Coma

A summer in a coma
In the wide Portuguese row
I converse with the melody already left behind

Lost children in the certainty of these times
Few sweet hours
Strong winds pull our detached
Detached

Paths on the wooden bench delineating
Voices creak in the clouds, little childhood without ardor
Orange earth paintings on my vibrating window
The plastic walls in this plane

My step on the turbulent platform
Does not cause laughter or attention
Children drowned in the backwater
A summer in a painless coma

My step on the turbulent platform
Does not cause laughter or attention
Children drowned in the backwater
A summer in a painless coma

My step on the turbulent platform
Does not cause laughter or attention
Children drowned in the backwater
A summer in a painless coma

Does not cause laughter or attention
A summer in a painless coma