I have a triangle, sorry
There is a triangle
In the open space of my concavities

I have threads, sorry
There are three threads
That tie my fingers
Of my extremities

I have oaks
There are two oaks, that stretch like a massage
Around me

I have a hole, sorry
There is a hole, that undoes me completely
Until I am nobody

I have bitterness, sorry
There is a cry, in the open space
Of my concavities

I have chills, sorry
There are deaths that tie the fingers, of my extremities

I have smells, sorry
There are pains that stretch me, like a massage, around me

I have echoes, sorry
There are prayers, that I vent completely until I am nobody
That tear me apart completely, until I am without you

CONSULTER LES PAROLES ORIGINALES