When the voice of the silent touches my words

Sometimes i think words are nothing but bubbles of thoughts. Bubbles that cannot help but rise above and in doing so let you breathe. Then there are times when you are above your thoughts, and breathing becomes purfunctory; indeed you forget that you even exist. And that's when you fly.

Votre voix, yeux d'émeraudes
Sa tendit mon rêve
Et je rêve d'un voyage à la lumière
Au-dessous du nuage

Seulement se rentrer dedans.