De Gotic


I am running, turning corners, for a taste of your shadow, the alleyways, a maze, de Gotic.


You melt into the walls, I can hear you giggle there,

Brass handles, wooden doors, el Castell.


My feet are nafra, pursuing you on cobblestones,

The ghosts of the Romans, sing your name to me.


The Thieves of the night, step aside as I run,

even they will not pluck from the pockets of love.


A strand of your hair floats down on the wind, it sticks to my lips, under the statue of a king.


Des da la placa de plaze, i run to your kiss,

Pero el companar, de la catedral doblen tres vegades,

and again you are gone, into the night.

 

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