Oh my baby my little one How romantic it could be To climb the sky Walkin'on a stair of stars, that shining blue
And build a hamac of clouds between the south and the north of the halfmoon And fuck in 'it again and again
I hang my head like a snowflake-man in a burning sun Because I'm my own ghost I'm really dead, this time I'm dead like the corpse in their mother fucking graves
How romantic it could be to climb the sky in a hamac made of clouds A hamac made of clouds my little one