Yes, I'm still here, holding the Sargasso to release me the grasp of truth and lies, depends on the day of the place. Not that I mind, I will stay stoical and firm;
that nonsense, if ever I fall apart with the first remember?
Remember the dreams we planted in the backyard? The watering every day, has not yet flowered but neither have I allowed to die. Still
I remember when I sharpen my beats without pitch, when you promised to add music to my poems, when your guitar sounded a thousand songs, when the silence was just an excuse between the two.
When even I save them, because most of the time do not know what I say, empty and cold days pass by my side and I rarely stop to breathe
Our love story ended before it began, because I am a calibrated and your a pimp.
And I do not answer and talk to me and bit lonely sometimes and I'm sad, you see.
And I hear endlessly that the "Today unaccompanied on this heart does not deceive, I have signed oblivion, wringing her hands my fingers tell lies when they make their sounds, the sleeves of my shirt, if they do not hold you, commit suicide in bleach, fought with feelings layer of dust, I have no battery, and now you tell me how you can stay alive in a love so rusty ... "Tell me where is the world ...
(of a genius who was born in Madrid with hair fosco and told stories with his arms akimbo.)
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