Hey, tell me, I do not get mad ...
I'm crazy right? Everything alive is a dream, a dream vision what I wish it were ... So when you brought me, for I wanted to be happy.
tore a thousand hearts before vomiting and could do it again, my hands sweat and blood in my mouth tasted only fresh meat, I killed and killed my being, nothing remains of what was or what I will, my body is just a cell, a cell gnawed will not let me dance with the girl, who will not let me feel the pleasures of the flesh ... Mata, suffers and cries ... It was a horrible cycle, a cycle which demonstrated the lack Machiavellian humanity left in me ... "Feelings? What was of joy, sadness and lament? Are there no room for love? Tell me when you tore your heart?
I dare to call manic, they say that ghosts of the past haunt me, do not explain how I got these wounds ... Do not even know my name, do not ask me, "Sujeto9" What kind of name is that?
I think I hear about you, you know you're here, but merely to observe, think I can handle, think they may know of my movements, I think I can improve ... Idiots.
I ran out of kisses on my lips, I had no romantic words in my strings that the wanted all, each and every one of them, collectibles, saved in a jar and walk away wearing red colors. No, Where are you?
The "Sujeto8" died, "Sujeto7" has not yet returned and the "Sujeto1" just sing songs. Why he can have a guitar? It's unfair! Why he can have a guitar and me I can not have you? Why do I split? Why took you so far? Cordura ... You were always so beautiful ...
Oh! Here comes my dose ...
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