It was almost love all that we lived together –
we needed just one word, a look was missing,
and everything would have softly sit in its place.
But don’t be sad, soul of mine, because from you
the dawn of tomorrow is born, from the war cry
awakening the mountains that sleep.
It was almost love the story of us –
we needed just another summer, to ignore sirens,
and walk barefoot in the dew.
But don’t be sad, soul of mine, because from us
moss roses will arise in all the flowerpots
cracked from too much sun, and from too acid rains.