From where your sad song, that trembling song that speaks of a thousand thorns that punish your chest, your song, oh your song!!!!.

It is the cadenced voice of your being, the song that migrates from the soul, a path of pains that tear your memories and rise in the twilight wind.

The years have passed, you have already left your youth lost in the autumn of the past, solitary, silent, looking at the distances, is the sign when your guitar falls silent.

There are so many thorns that lacerate the present, so many that your back is tired of carrying them like Calvary, you keep the lacerating scars of them as a flag of your battles already lived.

Your guitar, the companion of yellow afternoons, your years, those that advance inexorably every day and the thorns that have marked your stories, this afternoon they will meet again in these streets.

I'll be back tomorrow, I want to hear your voice going through the wandering memories of the past, you will be there, you are the sign that marks the end of so many grey afternoons, maybe one day you will no longer be there, you and your guitar will have left, you will go in search of the light that comes from the blue horizon of another time.