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Echo from the lace-veiled night, whisper of a secret spring,
Gets lost in the recesses of my thought, hidden and undefeated.
There, where the dream embraces the dark eternity,
A soul wanders between dream and oblivion, seeking the pearls of shadows.
Is there, in the vastness of the cosmos, a tear so large,
To extinguish the burning flame of longing, to calm the restless dream?
In mysterious depths, dusted by eternal thoughts,
Heavy leaden eyelids rise towards the stars, praying in the profound night.
In the heart of autumn, dressed in rusty leaves,
The bell of suffering resounds under the silver moon,
The stars croak in chorus, gathering in a mystical song.
The trembling light of a candle, the immortal soul's flame,
Burns in the sanctuary of the chest, hidden beneath the veil of secrets.
On astral paths, unknown to the world, the stellar evening descends,
The wind brings questioning voices, echoes rushing through the cosmos.
Streams of tears flood the earth, with their deep bitterness,
Not even the seas can contain in their depths so much pain in flight.
Autumn falls over all that is alive, with storytelling steps,
And knocks on the windows with fingers of wind, unhurried, yet unyielding.
On a bench forgotten by the world, caressed by wind and time,
Sits a street bard, with a guitar to his chest, enchanting the empty time.
He plucks strings that carry spells and sweet sighs,
Weaving an ethereal canvas between joy and divine longings.
This urban wizard, hidden in the world's sidewalks,
Captures in silent songs, the echo of a heart fallen into somber tones.
How can I speak of pains and memories, when he paints shadows with sounds?
His song, a spell that weaves and unravels, soothing the heart's wounds and burns.
Time, that eternal alchemist, seeking unseen paths,
Looking deeply, my eyes wish to shine, to dance in the circles of the sky.
He shares the mystery of his thought, turning questions born of tears,
Into celestial sparks, transforming the burden into solace and knowledge.
His magic resonates, transforming into the whispers of the night,
In singing strings, each heartbeat sways and becomes clear.
Tell me, street wizard, with your sublime voice,
How many golden songs must we sculpt from our breath of wind,
Before the moon rises gloriously in the enchanted garden of the night?
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