Tense weaves under the light ceiling
Tense weaves under the light ceiling
Wind comes to sweep the vague emptiness
Short and thin trail
Silently weaving our thread
No one notices the shine
Almost invisible in the hand
Spinning the trail of fate
Dust turns into a song
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Sun touches the ends of the paper
Tangled sky falls
Light flight without a hat
Everything beautiful soon fades
No one notices the shine
Almost invisible in the hand
Thin trail of fate
Dust turns into a song
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
Weightless
Without any trace
Silk that disappears
Changes its name
Forgets to be
We are of pure silk
Born from fatigue and tenderness
Breathing through the cracks
Where the light throws its parties
Thread by thread
Cold white
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