Butch McKoy in front of the door

In front of the door
Door of light
My feverish hands think and run away
All of a sudden the abyss dive my child
The pain in heavy but nothing
Open door.
The eyes are closed but nothing
In the nascent obscurity
The warmth of a body of a grace
Is it you perhaps or maybe but nothing.
The wind starts blowing
Overlap a scream maybe
For it to shine for ever your eyes
My love the warmth oh oh
Let's walk on a path the stars or maybe
The flowers fade or spring up perhaps
At last the fright maybe
At last the joy perhaps
The warmth of a body of a grace
Is it you perhaps or maybe but nothing…