Children Of The Waves

Why don't you come with me one day, and we'll go to the little fishing village guarding the bustling coast? I've got the foaming waves too deep in my skin, and even through the red nightmares of the night, I can still hear them, lapping against the sparkling sand.Come with me to see, the fisherman returning from his lonely sojourn into the horizon of incense.We'll sing with him the song of the sheltered sea as he brings ashore his catch.Ah and we'll feel the wind, yes the wind! Not the wind you and I know, dear friend, but the wind kissed by the chill of the celeste mediterrenean; making our languid skin drink the drams of the melancholy dawn.Our lives will be like taht of a little bird on top of an old olive tree: miniscule, and harmonious with the love that shelters us.We could go see the market, listen to the bright voices drawn from our provincial childhoods, we'll smell the hopes of the sea between the scales of the fish who look at us with eyes as red as our waterfalls of entwined blood.A vague nostalgia shall creep up on us: we do not know these scenes yet they have always been hinted in our mid-day dreams.So come with me, dear friend, and we will return with a golden peace in our heart, and we will live life, gently, like children of the waves.