I might seem strange to you when I am just a ghost in a dreamland. My words may not sound the same when they are coming from my fingers instead of my mouth. I reach and try to hold, a memory that doesn't want to die and doesn't want to be grasped.
Today, at night, I'll play drums and I'll just be. Later on, you'll come home and we will be. In conclusion, here and there, I'll always be the same.
1 comentario:
Sí, reconozco tus palabras a pesar de la muralla de anonimato y la falta de tu V de Volátil, de Veritas. Pero, ¿que hago con ésto? con tus lágrimas interiores cuando las mías siguen de vez en cuando, y ahorita, afuera?
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