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Back in your arms

Now that the crimson stains
your night sky and the silent whispers sins would
Today of course there is something to forget Or maybe just
be held Dancing

live in your street, I lose your bars
There defect in the environment, the party is hot .....¡ ay!

Dying in Bilbao, there is nothing better life
Burn to be reborn again in your arms
To re-born again in your arms

much time on your side, I would not leave
know I'm going to miss you
Grey passions and defeats scenario
you so capricious caress or razor.

Now that the crimson stains
your night sky and the silent whispers sins would
Today of course there is something to forget
Or maybe you just glad to be alive

Dancing on your streets, I get lost in your bars
There defect in the environment, the party is hot .....¡ ay!

lyrics of the song "Back in your arms" - Doctor Deseo

7mm Rem Mag Long Range Ballistics Chart

Halfway through the journey of our life I found myself in a dark wood, for me away from the straight path.
Ah! How sad I would say the wild, rough and thick was the jungle, whose memory renews my fear, fear so sad that death is not so much.

But before speaking of the good I found there, reveal the other things I've seen.
not know how I got that straight, so I was asleep when I left the true path. But on reaching the foot of a hill, where I concluded the valley was full of fear, the heart, I looked up and saw its top covered with the rays of the planet to guide us safely through all the trails .....

Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy

Painting With Woman Dancing In A Red Dress

Evey reborn life Poem

Everything happens and everything is, but ours is
pass,
spend on roads, paths
the sea.

Never search for glory, nor

leaving the memory of men my song;
I love the subtle worlds, weightless
and Gentiles,
like soap bubbles.


I like to see painted sun and scarlet,
fly under the blue sky, shake and break suddenly
...

never looked for glory.

Traveler, your footprints
the way and nothing more;
traveler, there is no path,
is made by walking.

By walking the path
and
look back you see the path that has
never walked again.

Caminante no hay camino
but wakes in the sea ...

some time ago in that place where the forests
dress
heard thorn a poet's voice shouting
"Caminante no hay camino,
is made by walking ..."

Stroke by stroke, line by line ...

The poet died far from home.
Covered by dust from a neighboring country.
they saw him mourn.
"Caminante no hay camino,
is made by walking ..."

Stroke by stroke, line by line ...

When the finch can not sing.
When the poet is a pilgrim,
when nothing helps us pray.
"Caminante no hay camino,
is made by walking ..."

Stroke by stroke, line by line. Antonio Machado