130 Years

Dear is transformed into a mockery of itself
The point of not even recognize anymore.
Today I'm 130 years,
That was not in my plans,
You know the disorder is tenacious.

So many links, so many bonds,
The controls prentensões,
Little good if the wind does not blow.
This wind beneath my wings,
I do not send anything more,
I know it is high but I'm going to jump.

What will everyone say?
And where will arrive?
Neither the eye can see

Decided I did not come home,
The home is the body
And all the words that will
Can think.
Follow the wind beneath my wings
I do not send anything more, know
What is high but I'm going to jump.

What will everyone say?
And where will arrive?
Neither the eye can see.