Through the painting and the wite busts
|
in the corridor of the fountain
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from a century I try to find you, I try
|
|
The veil, the veil of the night descends
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heavy upon our school
|
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Where the music found shelter
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from the havoc of the plebeians thirst
|
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And I wonder why
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birds are silent now
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and our tools of notes worn as your love
|
|
A young boy takes a violin
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and puts all his dreams in it
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and turns towards the dusky skyline, smiling
|
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Smiling, as yet he ignores the minstrels fate
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to need for a love vast as sky
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impossible to find
|
|
Or maybe he'll find flower
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on which you'll share some joy
|
the kind of those
|
greeting the end
|
|
-----------------
|
Conservatory Resonance
|
| Novembre |
