Everibody sometimes, somewhere has walked inside an unwelcoming evening in the park after aimlessly wandering in sadness because lover wasn't there, because the night was screaming silence in their ears, because...she wasn't there, beside you, in that wet park bench.

When the rain felt on my face, cold,
after our summer was but all gone,
the wind tried to wipe the sky tears
like your finger many times had done,
as the rustling of dry leaves mimicked
the softly beat of our favorite song,
then, and only then as I went the night,
I could hear the whisper of your voice.

Surrounded by the mist, ethereal arms
of nymphs that appear on every Fall,
to write your name up there in the air,
as I, swimming in the deepest shadows
reaching for Circes island one more time
with the hope of a shipwreck that forgot
the taste of a last passionate kiss, but then,
I could hear the whisper of your voice.

I sat on a wet park bench under the curious
stare of a owl from a tree’s branch, alone,
perhaps we were drove there by destiny to be
of each other not our good but a bad omen,
waiting for something to happen our hearts
kept on beating, maybe no tonight, tomorrow,
when sun rises up my soul’s will open and
I could hear the whisper of your voice.

Asking the silence to let it to come through
of thee my love that marvelous of all sounds
when you sigh in contentment in my arms
and there is no need for us to utter a word,
a tender illusion that will not die, not tonight,
not on a wet bench of a park all unknown
for many lovers passing by, but the one where
I could hear the whisper of your voice.