With a voice I was once filled
And then its memory vanished away
All I remember is we were little ones
We were big little ones...
Now I try to get back into that memory
But it's like a door closed before me
How in a tiny and closed courtyard
We used to feel so free...
It's your eye it's the form of your forehead
They are shapes of a fate flying us back
I'm not your lover nor even your friend
Just an adult come for recovery
It's your smell it's the form of your shade
They are secrets told by the old storyteller
I'm not your lover nor even your friend
Just a sick guy come for recovery
We were little ones...
Little little ones...
Your garden's wall is too high...
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