_if wishes fell like a rain, then certainly i am a storm._

if dreams were flowers, then i am the purest garden.

my soul lives not to suffer, but to be alive.

and in the deepest part of myself, there it lies.

if my life was recorded, it would be in the oldest diary;

using ancient vocabulary, only the wise ones understand it.

like a witch spelling casts, i'd spell all my desires

in my secret language; _only i understand me._

if words were finite, i speak my own dialect.

it has just one rule: never faking my voice.

i must follow my own sound to the labyrinth,

the labyrinth of the freedom, of feeling loved.

if the world can't provide what i require,

then i'll create my own cosmos, to share with the planets

because i'll never deny the needs of the soul,

that's why **_ _**_if wishes fell like a rain, then certainly i am a storm._