Ataraxia - Aquarello текст песни

Your hands and my words trace circles,
Lines, volutes, assonances,
Fragrances of sonorous abstractions
Atmospheric nuances,
Tenuous impalpable motions of spinging chords;
Cerulean, overseas-blues hover and twist
In floating constellations

"We open the dance like unusual
Comedians or sylvestrian
Interpreters of a bizarre picture."