“But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.”

E. Hemingway.
"París era una fiesta"


Wednesday, 14 December 2016

Sweetness restored

I'm leaving the table
I'm out of the game
I don't know the people
In your picture frame
If I ever loved you or no, no
It's a crying shame if I ever loved you
If I knew your name

You don't need a lawyer
I'm not making a claim
You don't need to surrender
I'm not taking aim
I don't need a lover, no, no
The wretched beast is tame
I don't need a lover
So blow out the flame

There's nobody missing
There is no reward
Little by little
We're cutting the cord
We're spending the treasure, oh, no, no
That love cannot afford
I know you can feel it
The sweetness restored

I don't need a reason
For what I became
I've got these excuses
They're tired and lame
I don't need a pardon, no, no, no, no, no
There's no one left to blame
I'm leaving the table
I'm out of the game

Mi necesidad de no escuchar nada ni a nadie más que a Lenny crece por horas. Va a ser un invierno largo, sin jueves cobardes.





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¡Habla, pueblo de Aura!