Your voice can not scream
because it is a clear desert
you're gone, You're Dead
and you can not sing.
Nor can dream,
your dreams have gone
and confused by clouds
if it was raining or mourn.
heal your wounds
if you could return
of that eternal slumber,
of those nights so missed.
What mine who the priest,
if I open my eyes without seeing
whom I may return
your smile and your tenderness?
Nor can you hear me,
and I I can hear you.
Will my hands to fight,
love, hate, feel, live?
I die a little
and on the road to find you,
wake up and wake
this crazy dream.
In this thorn that sticks,
of this death as early
this live with no tomorrow,
of this fire and the lava.
This goodbye odd and alone,
of this cross crucified
this nothing more than anything,
of this god or faith without malice.
In this wild crazy
that runs through my entrails,
I no longer fool me
or is it true this outrage.
Oh, if you could wake
of one or the other way!
Oh, if I could could
the world stop spinning!
