The city is painted with lights
the moon draws your face.
And I, at so many in the morning
with my crosses and my strange moves

trapped in my body, until I dream
of traveling by your side,
we don't know what tomorrow holds
but we must be prepared

maybe God is not this one on my side
nor the angels nor the muses
obtuse lyrical ones, that vibrate in love and lust
nights of smoke, and old songs

that make the skin crawl, of the hearts
blindly I sketch out the reasons,
of so many bad tastes.
Because I long for your lips

those kisses that fill my soul
and caress me on the back
maybe your hands are just a placebo
that works as a remedy

and I can't do anything,
except give myself to it
I'm yours, and you know it
there are no egos or games

mental paradises, where I caress your breasts
after long nights of vigil
I calm the fury, and give my rage
between your hips

fire in the sheets
where there is no room for doubt
it's me and my goddess,
who free ourselves from the tortures of life