My Own

Whatever I do, whatever I say
I am different in my own,
whatever I think, whatever I feel
is my world when I am alone.

Sometimes they are out of this world
not my eyes, but my heart and my mind,
I don't know where, but I think
searching new places to find.

Because my eyes are scorched, my hands burned
whenever I see, whenever I feel,
misery and despair, tyrrany and disease
and when I find no place to appeal.

But my heart sings and fills with joy
when I see the beauty, the width of the sky,
the dew on the grass, the colour of the flowers
makes me feel good and heals the burn of my eye.

And I feel that it is my world
in which I have lived, in which I have grown,
even if I had the choice, I would take no other
because, surely it is different but it is my own.