Everyone has their unrealized dreams
and everyone has suffered because of someone,
fought against his feelings with truth,
visited the club of the left once.
I remember how I was madly in love,
wrote poems about her and dreamed of her at night,
but as she said, I was not made for her,
she wanted to give the other a chance.
I lied to myself that mine would be, after all,
tried from the bottom of my heart to hide the truth,
melted my feelings into poems,
merged more and more with my shadow.
But, in the end, a grain of courage was found
to look the truth in the eyes,
then song and wine are the only companions,
that make days in solitude easier.