In the street’s celebration, fear,
when every path is wasted on us.
We walk the path of vanity
with a watch that’s always five minutes early.

When we cross the street
that smell of your dolls,
the sayings of grandma,
and her dirty looks.
The anguish in your voice:
All night
I circumambulated the wall
in my dreams.

When we cross the forest,
when you go through the song
on the beach,
a horse, its colour isn’t important
let’s say white.
When you ride it
the horse seems smaller,
the song seems distant.
When you become lonely
only the wall
is your companion.

Five minutes later
we cross the street
with feet that are always five minutes late
with your dolls
with this street
with.