In dreams, you told me "take care of yourself, take care of yourself" But I saw your trembling lips, my my mom. Tonight, I light the candles, sing a song for you alone. But I never smile again, my my mom.
Stop crying, it's your birthday. Be smiling facing my side. I'm waiting for the next trip so that I see you. Stay there, party is for you. Felicitar, happy birthday. I'm making special present till I see you till I see you.
whenever i see you, your eyes are filled in tears. I have nothing more to say, my my mom. Today, I set the table and make a food for you alone. But I never find you anywhere, my my mom
The diffusion of light guided him to a window. He opened it: a round, yellow moon outlined two stopped-up fountains in the melancholy garden. Lonnrot explored the house. He traveled through antechambers and galleries to emerge upon duplicate patios; several times he emerged upon the same patio. He ascended dust-covered stairways and came out into circular antechambers; he was infinitely reflected in opposing mirrors; he grew weary of opening or half-opening window which revealed the same desolate garden out side, from various heights and various angles; inside, the furniture was wrapped in yellow covers and chandeliers bound up with cretonne. A bedroom detained him; in the bedroom, a single rose in a porcelain vase-at the first touch the ancient petals fell apart. On the second floor, on the top story, the house seemed to be infinite and growing. The house is not this large, he thought. It is only made larger by the penumbra, the symmetry, the mirrors, the years, my ignorance, the solitude.
"in your labyrinth there are three lines too many," he said at last. "I know of a Greek labyrinth which is a single straight line. Along this line so many philosophers have lost themselves that a mere detective might well do so too. Scharlach, when, in some other incarnation you hunt me, feign to commit(or do commit) a crime at A, then a second crime at B, eight kilometers from A, then a third crime at C, four kilometers from A and B, halfway enroute between the two. Wait for me later at D, two kilometers from A and C, halfway, once again, between both. Kill me at D, as you are now going to kill me at Triste-le-Roy." "The next time I kill you," said Scharlach, "I promise you the labyrinth made of the single straight line which is invisible and everlasting." He stepped back a few paces Then, very carefully, he fires. 1942
This narration is quoted from <DEATH AND THE COMPASS> of the <FICCIONES> by Jorge Luis Borges.
Turn the light, take it a tight, never knows She has the sign, he has the time, never knows who is the queen, where is the wind, someone knows Look for the sign, you got a keys (where do you do?)
