Stories

Here, hand me all your sticks

And lie on my arm
I will recount forgotten tales
princes, parrots and magic tricks

Bring your white sheets, cool jasmine waters

And midsummer nights will weave fragrant carpets 

We will fly into faraway shooting stars

Where whims and nightmares turn into sweet dreams

All you have become, and all that shall be

Shed in that wonderland
Come back to yesterday

Here, hand me all those sticks

And take my hand.