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Song for summer

With your wife washing dishes in the kitchen and not understanding
with your daughter trying on his new dress and smiling
With the radio buzzing
strange things about the world
and the breath of your sleeping dog.
 
With your saints alwes ready
to bless your hard work for food
with your blond baby
whom you gifted with a gun for christmas
that looks real
with the bed were your wife
was never able to give
and your glasses which you'll have to change in a while
 
Why can't you fly anymore?
 
With your windows open on the street and your eyes closed on people
With your calm, awarness, eternal satisfaction
your spare tail
your clouds for rent
your swallows scouting on the roof
 
with your episodic Franciscanism
your sweet solidity
your washed oxygen
and your waves, balanced in a room
with the permission to transmit
and the prohibition to talk
and everyday another day to count
 
Why can't you fly anymore?
 
with your slow passions, specified by seasonal memories
and a sleeping beauty who wakes up
for every present you give
with your collecting
complicate words
your last song for summer
 
with your paper hands to envelop other normal hands
with the idion in the garden selecting your best roses
with your mountain cold
and the prohibition to sweat
and nothing else to feel ashemed of
 
Why can't you fly anymore?
 
Paroles originales

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