I get dark and go back to sleep
in a gray cloud
smoking over silver
the terror that gives live.
And everything seems fine
in this room.
For today I will stop listening:
-Ay what I call myself.
I taste the humidity
that rots on the walls
and I ask for asylum in the midst of humanity.
But no, I do not ask it please
but for mercy.
The sky broke in tears.
The terror settled.
There came a blackness such
as if the sun died.
Wise men seek now
some ray of light.
They say they are hidden
next to the Holy Cross.
I taste the humidity
that rots on the walls
and I ask for help from all mediocrity.
But no, I'm not asking you please,
no, never please
but for mercy.
I wanted to drown my sorrows
but they swam in alcohol
as Mark Spitz.
Today the full moon
has decided to spit at the sun
and I do not know much more
than a piece of song.
I get dark and go back to sleep
on a blue and gray cloud.
I smoke, silver to silver,
the fucking of living.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)