Cada vez que olho pela mesma janela vejo algo diferente.
Os tempos são os mesmos...
A grama continua baixa...
O clima lá de fora pouco se alterou.
Até então, nada entendia.
Foi quando senti meu sangue ferver, borbulhar, enquanto rubras as pontas dos dedos.
De repente um frio,
E aquele sangue todo novamente, que agora sinto quase congelar.
É nessa frequência instável que sigo.
E, assim, começo a entender do que são feitas aquelas paisagens.
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Every time I look through the same window I see something different.
The times are the same ...
The grass is still low ...
The weather out there has changed little.Until then, knew nothing.
That's when I felt my blood boiling, bubbling, While crimson fingertips.
Suddenly a cold,And all that blood again, now I feel almost frozen.
It is unstable at this frequency that follow.
And so I begin to understand what those landscapes are made.
Jéssica Fernandes.
_________________________________
Every time I look through the same window I see something different.
The times are the same ...
The grass is still low ...
The weather out there has changed little.Until then, knew nothing.
That's when I felt my blood boiling, bubbling, While crimson fingertips.
Suddenly a cold,And all that blood again, now I feel almost frozen.
It is unstable at this frequency that follow.
And so I begin to understand what those landscapes are made.
Jéssica Fernandes.
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