The Game

The mist is just
the sweet caress
of storms that blow
our dreams away.

Storms and dreams
is all we play,
the dreams are gone…
I lost the game.

When tears no longer hurt my eyes,
if the clouds return to fill the tide.
I’ll know there's something old inside,
I’ll know your love for me has died.

No regrets, none at all,
what a ride! it was.
You were the best game of my life!

I just wish a better end,
if we ever play
the game... again!

José Vidal – Pepín 2007 ©


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