when i saw october leaves, of massachussets trees, on my feet in that boston's street.
Clean close sky-line line, dead empty sea.
And that places i was once more, second time completely unknown.
My came back home, is just a fight for the not forgotten details.
Hours pass playing to fix missing pieces of one night. Missing pieces of one face.
I always imagined how a last memory before dying could be.
For years, i tought mine would be his green eyes looking to the roof,
blowing his cigarrete smoke, filling up the car.
Always will be a person. But i prefered a painfull one, with part-erased face.
Kind of memory about beauty, and happiness. One second of life-film.
If I die tonight, Boston will be a girl-last memory-face, with painfull missing pieces,
others worth to be forgotten,
but still beauty as the first time she looked into my eyes.
-"October leaves, on Massachussets trees,
a sight so fleetingly free,
just how October leaves, just how October leaves me."