It Doesn't Matter Now

the night's filters do not respond

sweat is dropping on the pillow

and my mind is in a larger agitation

which is pressing the temples

echoes of wind / echoes of wind

my hand are searching your fingers

the death of sleep and the artificial caress

i wait for the morning time

around the the night in silence

the watcher dreams the joy

that man was in the garden

the devils are waiting

echoes of wind / echoes of wind

my hands are searching your fingers

behind that door there's somebody calling

edges have no end