l side of the dead and sang my goodbye.
Over the years I discovered that not only broken dreams, also are broken hands, feet. Unable to walk more. Can not write more. But the song continues, the pain does not die. And every night, when you lose the battle, you become dead. Open your eyes and look at the world from your mask, gold and silver hair, the thin shroud of love around you. You hear the song of eternal farewell, the voice of summer does not end. Dead muertera. The woman weeping ehe died in his sleep that makes its way to another world.
The years come and I cross my boat in the water of desolation. Way up the tower of dreams, where I weave the name of my hopes, where I shall give heart to other pains. But the days bring good things. In the labyrinth of dry leaves to the gods discovered that the battle began. Are your songs that lull me now. Their voices that guide me in the rites. I'm the mother land, fertile ground for the future, what will happen. And I am not alone. Among the dead came my son, pedaceBone ito another illusion, another mother who cried a tomb, died knowing that he could not see his son. My child, the fruit of my desires, my longings meat. Grabbed my hand is a smaller one. I gave him a body and a name, a hope of love woven into long nights of loneliness.
on this island between the world of the living and the dead, where life begins at dusk and ends with the morning sun. Where the gods sing and celebrate, waving a sea of old leaves. Yew where hopes and dreams for the living, where I bcoffers for the dead and give encouragement to the walkers, I'm here now, here are my gods, my child and myself.
