Saulo Oliveira Silva

WESTWARD It was more than a season But I just cannot tell Cause I’ve got lack of eloquence And all the words are on the run I glimpsed what thousand oceans Of countless verbs have not become Maybe I’ve made up my mind Flying away can’t hold a candle to Waking feeling the ground, touching the pastures of green Avoiding all of the scheme Of this crazy machine I’m just in doubt moving forward Is there still a light to the westward? Is there still a light to the westward?