The Phantom Singers Melancholy

Part 1: A plywood singer strives For those whose gaze is voraciously curious Under the prism of memory it is stored, The law of reverse perspectives. I will write you a sorrowful verse, So that at the fork we do not meet again. And here through the darkness of gray phantoms, I walk in the fog, through the painting of darkness. What awaits me here, ahead? And all burn, on my dry cheeks, The traces of that wayward life, In which even an experienced forester would get lost. In the mad games of yours The rain of my eyes is insane, You will remind the air, the sparkle, your azure dawn, Fighting alone with fate one-on-one, I would like to dissolve Into a puddle of blue metastases. To dissolve and get lost around the corner, Which even a black cat avoids.