It's a hollow story,to love someone scared of youwatching closely every move of yoursafraid that she might fall in love as wellI've got Jack, Lucky and Josebut ain't no friend like you, my loverthe strongest alethe thickest smokethe passionate wifein a skin dress lying in my bedhow low I amhow low you arelie to him as you lied to mecause I know every feeling you can make somebody feeland where the fuck is my pack of cigarrettes?my hands shake like hell when I can't find themtalking about the bitter taste of youlistening to Chopin's keysgetting numb with the taste of alcoholdown I goandsometimes all you can do is wish for amnesiato forget how it feels, to forget how it wasto lose your gospel of memoirsstep out of beatpass out in the curvewaiting for a new chapterwhen earth spins around the sun again. The street whores are dancingto a brand new beat taught by lifeand the grocery stores are filled upwith hellhounds starving for depravationBetter times for dead poetsCause they won't miss athingAs soup cans are filled with industrial-made talesthe Coca-Cola crusade.Lifestyle printed in billboardsfrom Klein, Gabbana and McDonaldthe philosophers of our time.I walk the boardwalks,and the advertisement talks to me,calling out for a loveless erawhile the ocean cries but nobody seefor it has been crying too long and too hardand everybody believes the tears are waves,the tattoos and scars walking trough his vast body.I hear you, dearsays Mother Nature from beneath the groundtoo scared to see their childrenturned dire. And she trembles in despairand everybody believes they are earthquakes.My favorite pub is dying,as I read rotten tales fromold men faces and sinful eyesdrinking their pints of beer and smokingtheir handmade cigarrettes.And I can feel this new bad tastein my cup of ginas I watch it become blackand my eyes, the prettiest blue.Heroes no more, shouts the televisonpolicemen do the work, lies the televisiontimes they are a-changin', like Dylan said.And I feel a cursecast on my boneswhile standing on the cabaret'sentrance.Some call it religion,Some call it despair,like the atheist before his deathbedor the christian in his whole life, theseare their misconceptions from ancient times.Some call it addiction,Some call it vicinity.I call it love.Love. Her cheeksmove up to the sound of whispersfrom my lie-filled tongueShe knows all about itBut she pretendsnot to knowfor love she pretendsnot to knowWe all die a little too young, I saidon one of those formal conversationslovers often do havebut she pretendsto agreeto make me happyto preserve our loveshe loves meor at leastpretends. RADIO MENSAGEIRA DA PAZ: OUCA A RADIO MENSAGEIRA DA PAZ AGORA: CLIC NO LINK ABAIXO E OUCA A RADIO MENSAGEIRA DA PAZ AO VIVO AGORA: http://www.apparitionstv.net/radio.html OU OUCA A RADIO MENSAG... AS APARICOES DE JACAREI-25 ANOS DE GRACAS! BLOG OFICIAL DO VIDENTE MARCOS TADEU-BRASIL: SACRATISSIMO ROSARIO MEDITADO 265 - GRAVADO POR MA... RADIO MENSAGEIRA DA PAZ: RADIO MENSAGEIRA DA PAZ NO AR: BOM DIA! OBRIGADO A TODOS OS NOSSOS OUVINTES PELA NOSSA TAO EXPRESSIVA E GRANDE AUDIENCIA! NOSSA SENHORA RAINHA E MENSAGEIRA DA PAZ ABEN... AS APARICOES DE JACAREI-25 ANOS DE GRACAS! BLOG OFICIAL DO VIDENTE MARCOS