Há coisas que perduram na memória, no registo do papel. Esta foi uma delas, no começo de um poema enviado e inacabado, mas com uma conclusão inesperada e delicadamente conseguida. Fica o meu começo, excerto de um lindo poema, no fundo tocado a quatro mãos.
"Murmuras segredos da noite nos olhos e, no toque, te sorrio à procura, sempre do outro lado de mim...."
I am at ease in the arms of a woman
although now most of my days are spent alone
a thousand miles from the place I was born
But when she wakes me she takes me back home
Now most days I spend like a child
who’s afraid of ghosts in the night
I know there ain’t nothing out there
I’m still afraid to turn on the light
I am at ease in the arms of a woman
although now most of my days are spent alone
a thousand miles from the place I was born
but when she wakes me she takes me back home
A thousand miles from the place I was born
But when she wakes me she takes me back home
I am at ease in the arms of a woman
although now most of my days are spent alone
a thousand miles from the place I was born
when she wakes me she takes me
Yeah, when she wake me she takes me
Yeah, when she wake me she takes me back home