beyond my window is you talking with I don't know who but looks as if you're talking with me in an irrational dialect radiating so, in your eyes, the entrance towards my soul beyond of you is the moon, — the window toward dreams, where some dogs bark to guard fancies' sheepfold by some stars that lurk if you talk with I don't know who but looks as if you're talking with me beyond these hazy thoughts is a porcelain tome which tries your imagination to ask yourself if you are the one who's beyond my window, barking like a dog, guarding fancies' sheepfold, lurking the stars in my eyes

If the questions are the keys to all valid curiosities, and one of the keys to a question is a pure joy that imply sex and candy as a properly shaped answer, which incites a secret door of the psyche, to unlock the soul of the fairy tales, drafted at a golden hour, for you to feel me as if I am with you… right there… even if I am… right here… cocooned in a deep panic, sipping some booze, subtly, while I am surrounded by the music that I've chosen to listen to right now… (picturing you…), I'll always remember us this way, as an extension of a thought, (mine… yours… ours…). And that's not even complicated. On the contrary. It's the perfect cover for lots of waves of laughter we brought lavishly to each other many times. So, shake it, baby... (as if you shake me in your arms).