dredg

Sometimes...

the world ages slow while the lips don´t dry off.

My Hands dredge other hands.

A benediction and a silly thing;

I want the blood runs by the piece for the world and wets the land.

Ethereal.

Y ar fre.

Sometimes...

I want to be wings of the freedom, and to caress the sea.

Dawn drawing your hands in the white walls of this room in ruins.