sábado, febrero 27
{ 12:52 a. m. }
Or maybe tonight
if the sun let me, get high
higher and higher,
although It's the night already
higher and higher.
Let me break your windows
and tear your pillow,
let me stain your matress
and scratch you back.
Looking you in the eye, cannot lie to me
I know what I felt that night under the moon
under the raindrops
under the trees.
Thunders, electricity.
It sure happens all the time
except because all the time means nobody
and nowhere, and somehow I agree.
Let me break your window
and tear your pillow,
let me stain your matress
and scratch you back.
You still have a extra night
when I promised you I'd never leave.
You still have the joker card,
and so do I. Shy, though.
But I don't get myself either, stop the wondering.
You do ask me quietly.
And so I do answer angrily.
Here is the key, alcohol and nicotine.
Rather burn myselfs from the insides than from the outsides,
way more pleasure, even a place, a look.
Asking for fire, being ice.
Asking why.
Why would you let me...
break your windows.
I know you can catch the air yet,
and If you don't, that song will recall you my breath in you throat.
