How narrow this street is,
the people do not fit in,
they form a procession
they progress very slowly.
No one has died,
it is nobody's saint,
you cannot hear a voice,
no bell tolls.
Meanwhile the heart waits
for the fountains to play.

And it rains on the heads of the creatures,
I would like to capture this moon with a rope
to take it with me far away,
to take it with me far away,
where the sky is sky and never darkens.

And it rains in the land of nobody.
I would like to be in charge, to squeeze the pain
into this bitter river
that has never met the sea
because the sea is far away and yet is near.

How long this road is,
because it never arrives;
it loses itself among the stones,
in the middle of maps,
under the grass of the wall
which climbs and swears
and curses during the day
and in the evening without sustenance.
Meanwhile the heart waits
for the fountains to play.

And it rains on the heads of the creatures,
I would like to capture this moon with a rope
to take it with me far away,
to take it with me far away,
where the sky is sky and never darkens.

And it rains in the land of nobody.
I would like to be in charge, to squeeze the pain
into this bitter river
that has never met the sea
because the sea is far away and yet is near.