You and I, my love,
Where love keep us in a joyful space:
Is love so hard to, see?
That I am worthy to love you,’
And you to love me—in a compassionate,
Kind way: Does love now become lust?
And lies let us mistrust?
Still, my heart won’t grow old,
Cause music keep having my heart sway,
To precious, rich rhythm, melody,
To every part of me: So, let us,
My dearest heart, run away, laugh,
dance, drink wine grapes—in Spring,
at the famous Barcelona, Spain.