Do you want me to say it? Sweet love; the night is dying of laughter and it's hot.
Cold, hot, sad and happy; a difficult case to understand.

Artists covered in mud;
names, surnames and even more surnames.
Louder, stronger and more saturated
and the words seem to be made of cardboard.

Rustic plastic, chunks with elastic.
Wobbly tables, obsessions and anguishes...
You say you're leaving me, photos on shelves...
Convex voices, complicated relationships...

Gymnastic love, a piece of heaven
with syrupy citron and drops of honey.
We're aborigines in a lost world...
the winners shout more than the losers.
If you don't know, maybe I'll know;
we aren't, we weren't and we never will be.
Gymnastic love for you and for me...
but first of all we would have to exist.