Another
perspective of my Lisbon
If
a seagull came
bring
me the sky of lisbon
in
the drawing I made,
in
this sky where the look
it's
a wing that doesn't fly,
fades
and falls into the sea.
What
a perfect heart
in
my chest beat,
my
love in your hand,
in
that hand where it fit
Perfect
my heart.
If
a Portuguese sailor,
of
the seven wanderer seas,
was
who knows the first
telling
me what I made up,
if
a look again shine
in
my eyes it entwined.
What
a perfect heart
in
my chest beat,
my
love in your hand,
in
that hand where it fit
Perfect
my heart.
If
by saying goodbye to life
the
birds all of the sky,
give
me goodbye
your
last look,
This
look that was only yours,
love
you were the first one.
What
a perfect heart
would
die in my chest,
my
love in your hand,
in
this hand where perfect
beat
my heart.
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