Besedila: The Black Atlantic. Dandelion.

Now she walks the land
The heart of which she always belonged to
On the back ways
Finding wild flowers and stones
For a wise woman's treasury
She set free to the wind
When the clock of her memory dispersed

Dandelion
Into uncountable incomprehensible time capsules

Film rearranged on the reel
In her eyes, I would always be four
four years old

Dandelion
My Dandelion

It is not uncomplicated when the life of a loved one fades away