The words that fly over the mountains
like a fierce and old dragon
and slide down them to a fountain
where the deeps aren't clear anymore.
where the deeps are darker than before.
The words that grow inside a forest
and every soul feel their smell.
The time, the end calls them to rest
and now are dead and nobody knows
the sparked light that in the night flows.
Mushrooms flooded by monsoons.
Changes changed by no time.
Loose lips faded by teardrops.
Wide long way home went astray.