And if the clouds think they fly with
Words that they said to me
at other times,
You are always telling a
He who makes a paradise of his bread
You can owe nothing, If you give back its light to the sun.
I can wait for you longer. Because you have arrived.
The chains that bind us most closely
The dream wich is not fed with dream disappears.
In its last moment the
whole of my life
Man lives measuring and he
is measured by nothing.
A child shows his toy, a man hides his.
I began my comedy as its
Idea y Diseño: Angel Ros - 1998 ©