2022.03.04.
Music
All my fleeting attacks,they surprise me at dinner time.
Because they float in the glass of February's rain,
that do not wet, nor sadden the city.
Every moment of grief, every first moment,
Every sorrow or solace, every transient pain,
Every mania or attachment, every sincere lament,
Every lousy Sunday, every scary Monday,
Every day of the goalkeeper, me and my mendicant look,
All the layers of the sky, all the things that I want,
Every day in the world, there's a way resurrect.
Every night, every place.
The moments that we have left.
And an absurd opportunity to live,
to live my life.
Music, there's music while we're falling,
Although everything is wrong out there,
It's the talking of my dramatic city,
The hour of pain and nobody has peace,
I still won't listen
Slow, infinite,
the minutes of winter,
they dissolve in the mouth
of a chattering devil.
Because I only take the glory of having in my memory
A magical story in your hours of euphoria
Every day in the world, there's a way resurrect.
Every night, every place.
The moments that we have left.
And an absurd opportunity to live,
to live my life.
Music, there's music while we're falling,
Although everything is wrong out there,
It's the talking of my dramatic city,
The hour of pain and nobody has peace,
I still won't listen.
The voices of distress and loneliness,
The indeclinable absence of freedom,
I'm living the most fanatic routines,
that're born from problematic mornings
I'm still not waking up.