Like the roads break under our wheels
I feel that time passes on what surrounds me
More than on myself
While everyone is talking,
in the yard
While the children are chasing the old people,
with heavy steps
I see nothing,
unconscious,
running on my hands,
Already,
dive into tomorrow
Like the crazy people who dance
Without knowing that the time is moving forward
On big white hair,
on the run
Come the old torments,
of the ideal,
To question my heart,
The ball,
of I would be better elsewhere?,
The fear,
of not being able to get used to it,
Too late,
to go back
Like the cracked ones who dance
Without knowing that the time is moving forward
Like the crazy people dancing
Without knowing that the time is moving forward
Like the crazy people dancing

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