Mascara

And something is left among the clear pages,
among the dark pages,
and I delete your name from my mask
and I confuse my excuses with your reasons,
my excuse with your reasons.
That Gypsy who read the future to me called me a winner
but that Gypsy is a trick.
But, if I had been a little younger,
I would have destroyed an intrusive future with my fantasy,
I would have torn it thanks to my imagination.

Now you can send your lips to a new address
and overlap my face
to the face of who knows who.
Your four aces - let's be clear - of just one color,
you can hide them or play them as you want
or let them stay good friends like us.

Holy desire to live and sweet Venus of mascara.
Like when it was raining outside, and you asked me
if by chance I still had that photo
where you smile and do not look.
And the wind passed by your fur neck
and by your person and when I,
without understanding, answered yes.
You said 'That is all that you have of me.'
That is all that I have of you.