What remains of you, the cool rain, a vague image. Photo lost in a strange vacuum. Detours in your streets, a t-shirt and laughs. Heat on the sand, secrets, the public benches. The guitars and vocals, acoustic tunes.
J'égare just what's left of me in the middle of what remains of your voice.
What remains of you, in a last look, a smell that comes from a long absence. A beginning of utopia and the eternal dance. An invisible cold, sort of a souvenir, that sounds more, miles. The fear of forgetting and will recover.
What remains of you, the chaos of your eyes in the inferno of my nights, sleep apart. Smiles defeated the Suns purple and hours in tatters. A name on a wall, epic characters, books and fools. A dream in smoke and then me and you.
J'égare a little what's left of me in the middle of what remains of your voice. I hate myself for me to hang up ca. What remains of that, a how a why. But I love you I have not forgotten you. And my heart is over there in the white snow, in the spectrum of fire as a ride. In remembrance happy with his arm from his lips, gold of her hair.
And my heart still remains a bit and I hung up a ca ... A large empty
vertigo is what I have left of you is what I have left me.
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