In the burnt wind, the murals curl with radiance, painted by burning weeds.
The houses have opened balconies in the old town in the spacious squares.
In the ample deserted rectangle, there are banks of stones and trees that draw their jet-black shadows on the white sand.
Summer gives its calm color on all its leaves and the wind stirs once again. And, you make yourself a space nearby, so close, you are like musical notes, like the guitar in the night or the piano keys near a glass of red wine.
oh, the wind agitates
oh, the wind agitates
oh, the wind agitates
oh, the wind agitates
And when the wind stirs, we have to be born again, to start over. Many will say that it is necessary to return to reality but it is not true. You just have to let yourself be touched by the wind that burns and the light that accompanies it.
Always, without a doubt, the most beautiful things and moments occur when they are about to end.
The sand gives light to the beach, an empty calm ocean is a cloud of dust that drags to another place. I understand that there is a seduction that springs from the undulation of the fire.
The horizon is seen as far away from the sun, and at night the sky is seen with millions of stars.
And, in the distance, the earth is seen and the light shines on it.
The light shines on her and gradually fades away while in the Mediterranean the waves are breaking non-stop. And as always, the light is shining on her and the waves are breaking.
The light shines on her and the waves are breaking.
The light shines on it and the waves are breaking.
And the wind that burns has a particular noise of its own. I dream around me, it accompanies me at every moment and with every movement. It is as if it wanted to take me away.
The light shines on it and the waves are breaking.
The light shines on it and the waves are breaking.
Now I know that this light that shines so eternal and so ephemeral, only for me, or so I want to believe is the one who illuminates my nights and long dreams.
The wind that burns goes hand in hand with the sky and the soul that is empty.
The wind that burns goes hand in hand with the sky and the soul that is alive and the soul is empty, and the soul is empty.
I could contemplate the page of the sky, I could listen to the trembling of the roots, and argue with the ground, I could talk to the breeze. I could be close to that light that shines so eternal and so ephemeral and that illuminates my nights and long dreams. All thanks in part to this burning wind.
