If I am a wild nightly sky of dead dreams, You must paint stars of your eyes on me. You dwell with the shadows of your town; Trust—I won't be the sun of blazing heat. Draw the landscapes occurring only in sleep; In morning, I will be your descended sheet. A little long can it take to decode my words— Again, I promise: it's flowers instead of swords. Dreams—it's only what makes you draw near; Then, open-eyed, I search for you everywhere. How long is the night, O miles-fared dream? Tell me—you must come in gentle light beams. You are in my thoughts, as clouds in the sky; Like a river, you keep flowing and never die. When the clock will alarm me: Wake from the depths of death, She has emerged with your breath. Lastly, I would rise from the eternal rest.