When you fly through the street,
and I`m not looking, I`m not breathing,
paying the priest will bury me.
I saw so many eagles dying tonight,
during my run, a saxophone remembers me,
with an angel`s soul.
I won`t be your doll.
Long streets in a quiet planet,
so many arms like crosses on my mind.
I´m not scared for who I was
but the skull is now looking at me.
Le empiezo a pillar el ritmo al inglés...
ResponderEliminarle da un toque curioso el inglés.., pero la esencia/estilo no cambia.
ResponderEliminarMe gusta,sí.