The street joins both ends of heaven:  home and world. And from hell… but then the music cannot be heard, this thing of angels so serious they sound like children. The street blends your song to mine, your hands with my hands.  Ruler of the sun and of the moon, defeater of loneliness and inventor of experience:  your street, suddenly, is my homeland if you look at me like this.

                 From the fire of the hearth to the dark waters, treading the earth and kissing the air: the four elements (from the fifth, unnamed music was born of the celestial spheres). Flamenco:  rounded and taut. With one foot in harmony and the other in the depths of the heart. The night carries the lament from within, and from the secret soul rises the mist, the light, the southern moon and the blood of a people, so that at dawn the song does not stand alone. And to sustain eternity, the rhythm, like a mischievous god wearing wings on its feet.  Reminding us how many truths are harbored in the passing of time and bringing us sapphires from the rings of Saturn.

                 The universe: to embrace it and to live. You know it was all worth it when the night becomes guitar. From the street came a child still looking at you, serious as an angel with open arms… the child wanted to play with other children, later he made music with them… music that breathes within us.

Based on a text from Tino Barriuso

Translated from Spanish by Julie Turcotte

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