I’m gonna off the rain.

Milk, toast and honey
are three simple words,
for a little rest in Moscow
or only see the rain, its rhythm
in a hidden wood house.

I’m looking for an angel,
I try to find my soul
in a deep ocean.

In only one more time,
I would listen the song of wind,
the fallen tears of my dry and
sad flowers.

My heart beats only some times,
in order to fly to my moon;
like a bird
in the middle of nowhere.

Looking for an angel,
It’s my final route
raining, booking a book
sleeping in my park
in front of a picture of Dali.

Milk, white milk
for a little rest in Moscow
inside of a flower camp
to meet with my hidden angel.