Una Entrada Confusa
There’s a little room
Where the music in our eyes wake up
Sixteen hands for play
But sounds are laughing, laughing all the time
They pretend to catch them all, just for a little while
Sound pretend to flirt some more and silence, silence sleeps under the light.
Una entrada confusa, la salida clave.
El cuarto de color y música.
Un cuarto de temor y lucha.
La mirada cae.
Decaído el suelo escupe soledad.
Tu y yo, el llamado que la sangre calla.
3 esquinas, la cuarta vive para ser esclava.
El señuelo para estallar a la vida.
Amarillo viento que mueve mi pasado, mi pesar y mi eternidad.
Brilla? No conozco ese lugar.
Abatido el silencio desespera para yo esperar.
Comen soles, queman hambre. Cuántas gotas de sal quieres? Porque el río por fin volar sabe.
El gemir de las paredes está preso de nuestros seres.
Conocidos instrumentos decoran manos y los rostros aparecen tras la vida de sonidos a parentemente humanos.
El vestido que la crítica decoró.
Aquí se sudan las ideas como cristales de locura y de pasión.
La habitación donde los pasos se inspiran a olvidar.
Contigo quiero dar los siete pasos de regreso.
A Confusing Entrance
There’s a little room
Where the music in our eyes comes alive
Sixteen hands at play
But sounds are laughing, laughing all the time
They pretend to catch them all, just for a little while
Sounds pretend to flirt some more and silence, silence sleeps under the light.
A confusing entrance, the key to the exit.
The room of color and music.
A room of fear and struggle.
The gaze falls.
The ground, defeated, spits out loneliness.
You and I, the call that blood keeps quiet.
Three corners, the fourth lives to be a slave.
The lure to burst into life.
Yellow wind that stirs my past, my sorrow, and my eternity.
Does it shine? I don’t know that place.
Defeated, silence grows desperate for me to wait.
They eat suns, burn hunger. How many drops of salt do you want? Because the river finally knows how to fly.
The moaning of the walls is trapped in our beings.
Familiar instruments decorate hands and faces appear through the life of sounds that seem human.
The dress that criticism adorned.
Here, ideas sweat like crystals of madness and passion.
The room where footsteps inspire forgetting.
With you, I want to take the seven steps back.