My memories are my stupendous granny, the only thing that she knows about rock are my songs, but deep inside she has a boundless youth. A happy spirit where ...

My memories are my stupendous granny, the only thing that she knows about rock are my songs, but deep inside she has a boundless youth. A happy spirit where I could always find shelter. At the time of storm or crisis run away to Tuscany, to her. And meeting, among her long soft arms, under the foliage of the millennial tree, I could pull myself together and become child again.

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Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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