But as long as I have wind,
As long as thirst will remain,
The most hidden illusion
At hearing your name.

Again and again. I feel it.
Fate trembling with zeal,
Seeking a bastion for me
Where I must dwell and heal.

I closed myself within a sign,
A priest’s tale to unfold,
Like a puff of perfumes
Among faces passing cold.

For such an instrument
My hand does not fear
Neither harm nor pain,
Nor ever bleeding, so clear.

And like a cloud, I come,
Like rain, you might say,
Like a false shepherd
Who only wishes to sway.

They closed me within
An untouchable net
Made of faces and opinions,
Of critiques and bitter regret.

Marco Delrio

Like a Cloud

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