Sub un prun intr-o livada
When I talk and the soul listens:
Where's your heart !?! What happened to her? What happened to you, dear fragile soul? Who was so brutal blizzard to your wings? The heartless gestures, words or facts shook the heart, scared and weakened her, dwindled her to silence? The soul hurt and the mind drew some tough conclusions? Scarcely did you know what to do with all that pain. Or how to let the tears - however bitter, sour or bloody deep they might have been - fall into a magic place, so it won't form into a swamp...
Come, now, you've met me: Adnana - The mighty-almost unnoticeable-Shorty. I'll tell you the truth (and it will give you back your freedom to love. Oh, I know, I know: the truth hurts so bad! It wouldn't be truth if it didn't hurt, but it also frees. And, then, comes love. Truth hurts to heal, love caresses to live freely, carelessly, trustfully, faithfully - watch out, these last two words mean not the same thing!). I'll take care of you, I promise. You'll be all right once again. Believe in me, I'll give you back a smiling heart when I'm done. Meşterim, meşterim until I'll see that you're ok and then you can go fly... or stay. With me.
I'll tell you a secret: I don't like swamps. They smell. And they swallow every good, joy or hope. And so it is: I'll never like swamps.
Come, sing with me: we keep on :)ing, keep on :)ing.
Cum ziceam... sub un prun au fost toate: writer, typewriter, maşinuţă, cafea cu lapte, soc "or no" soc, priviri, atingeri, raze de soare printre verde, prun pe frunza ce-o să fie lipită iar de pom de ploaia care o sa vină, fructe mici de cais si dude mici de verde, aşteptări, griji, atenţii, iubiri. Noi. Trupa. "Suntem o trupă?" mă întreabă un cercel de Mai. "Da, suntem o trupă" îi răspund revigorată de naivitatea lui. Trupa de 1 Mai, din livada cu oameni care se cred speciali si cu carafe de vin-interzis-pe-motiv-de-amplicină. Să vină ploaia... Mie mi-a venit zâmbetul de Mai şi, de data asta, sunt pregătită: am cercei-2-cireşe-roşii-cu-câte-2-frunze-verzi. Pot să port cireşe la urechi oricând, nu doar în Mai.
Come, now, you've met me: Adnana - The mighty-almost unnoticeable-Shorty. I'll tell you the truth (and it will give you back your freedom to love. Oh, I know, I know: the truth hurts so bad! It wouldn't be truth if it didn't hurt, but it also frees. And, then, comes love. Truth hurts to heal, love caresses to live freely, carelessly, trustfully, faithfully - watch out, these last two words mean not the same thing!). I'll take care of you, I promise. You'll be all right once again. Believe in me, I'll give you back a smiling heart when I'm done. Meşterim, meşterim until I'll see that you're ok and then you can go fly... or stay. With me.
I'll tell you a secret: I don't like swamps. They smell. And they swallow every good, joy or hope. And so it is: I'll never like swamps.
Come, sing with me: we keep on :)ing, keep on :)ing.
Cum ziceam... sub un prun au fost toate: writer, typewriter, maşinuţă, cafea cu lapte, soc "or no" soc, priviri, atingeri, raze de soare printre verde, prun pe frunza ce-o să fie lipită iar de pom de ploaia care o sa vină, fructe mici de cais si dude mici de verde, aşteptări, griji, atenţii, iubiri. Noi. Trupa. "Suntem o trupă?" mă întreabă un cercel de Mai. "Da, suntem o trupă" îi răspund revigorată de naivitatea lui. Trupa de 1 Mai, din livada cu oameni care se cred speciali si cu carafe de vin-interzis-pe-motiv-de-amplicină. Să vină ploaia... Mie mi-a venit zâmbetul de Mai şi, de data asta, sunt pregătită: am cercei-2-cireşe-roşii-cu-câte-2-frunze-verzi. Pot să port cireşe la urechi oricând, nu doar în Mai.
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