domingo, 24 de febrero de 2013

:Mama:


Mama we all go to hell. 
Mama we all go to hell.
I'm writing this letter and wishing you well. 
Mama we all go to hell. 
Mama we're all gonna die. 
Mama we're all gonna die. 
Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry. 
Mama we're all gonna die. 
And when we go don't blame us, yeah, 
We let the fire just bathe us, yeah, 
You made us oh so famous 
We’ll never let you go. 
And when you go don't return to me my love. 
Mama we're all full of lies. 
Mama we're meant for the flies. 
And right now they're building a coffin your size. 
Mama we're all full of lies. 
Well mother what the war did to my legs and to my tongue, 
You should've raised a baby girl 
I should've been a better son 
If you can coddle the infection they can amputate at once, 
You should've been! 
 I could've been a better son. 
 And when we go don't blame us, yeah, 
We let the fire just bathe us yeah, 
You made us oh so famous, 
We'll never let you go. 
 She said "you aint no son of mine" 
For what you've done they're gonna find 
 A place for you and just you mind 
 Your manners when you go. 
 And when you go don't return to me my love, 
That's right. 
 Mama we all go to hell, 
Mama we all go to hell, 
It’s really quite pleasant except for the smell, 
Mama we all go to hell. 
 Mama, Mama, Mama, ohhhh. Mama, Mama, Mama. 
And if you would call me your sweet heart, I'd maybe then sing you a song 
But the shit that I've done with this fuck of a gun, 
You would cry out your eyes all along. 
 We’re damned after all. 
Through fortune and flame we fall. 
And if you will say that 
"I'll show you the way 
To return from the ashes you call." 
 We all carry on when our brothers in arms are gone 
So raise your glass high for tomorrow we die 
And return from the ashes you call

lunes, 11 de febrero de 2013



La luna alumbra las estrellas en la noche
Que inocentes tus ojos buscaban a tientas.
Huecos y vacíos dicen lo que no cuentas
Ahogando sus gritos en colonia de alcohol.

La carne tirita con el contacto frío
Del pasado al secuestrar el aire presente.
Saber no mirar a los ojos de la gente
Por siempre será el mayor signo de control.

Las palabras resuenan en los huecos muertos
De la habitación en la que el cuerpo fallece;
Sueños se van y lo inmutable permanece
Como las quemaduras que regala el sol.

El agua cae por la ventana como horchata
Y se dirige a tus brazos en mi camastro.
Tus palabras mudas quedan mas no hay rastro
Ni de sus horas pasadas ni de su rol.