Light is still in the roots, non in the sky the wind is cold and I need to cry
I don’t know where I will go, but I can’t go high
I suffer ‘cause myself I can’t recognize
This season should be called, springtime
but here the winter holds it all tight
I need to find a way to make me blind
in order not to see what I am become
In this Holy Friday there’s only a lie
that I have to maintain to remain alive
Everything it’s good, there is no time
to despair and to fall into this fire
