Edges

The night's filters do not respond
Sweat is dropping on the pillow
And my mind is in a larger agitation
Which is pressing the temples
Echoes of wind / echoes of wind
My hand are searching your fingers
The death of sleep and the artificial caress
I wait for the morning time
Around the the night in silence
The watcher dreams the joy
That man was in the garden
The devils are waiting
Echoes of wind / echoes of wind
My hands are searching your fingers
Behind that door there's somebody calling
Edges have no end