I don`t believe in a truth
spoken by scarecrows
I have my own
sad, hidden in the middle of a freesia
what is the truth after all
a photograph of you kissing her
or your lips softly touching my thigh
the cry of a baby
or my tears on a broken watch
time caught somewhere between us
or never hanged on a wire
the wings of an eagle when the morning gains strengh
or a grey dove on a deserted house
my hair covering your chest
or her scarf around your waist

today we dance
the scarecrows may sing
the only truth that matters now to me