Clouds throughout scented lights

Like an angel gazing at the windows, seeing clouds and fog.
Being inside a table, being upon one, telling dark secrets in someone’s ears, the muses talk with the small men.
In the water, paper’s being torn apart, no use, no scent, nothing there.
The rocks merge around a little man, he whispers softly to each one of them, the green takes part in the small talk, the wind gives and takes, the rain’s there to make a little mud, while his skin’s aching for an overcoat, asking him to give himself.
Levando um pássaro por um cordel, vendo a natureza estranha e aparente, il veut parler, écouter, déguster, il veut rire, les rêves sont toujours lá dans l’eau.
Willst du ein traeum ?!! 

: sagen die grossen leuten.
Scissor’s here and there, throughout a strange cloud, that keeps turning green all the time.