Down

Sundays I think about your light
That shines even upon the night
In the huge darkness of the den

and out of ten, I get a ten.

Mondays I wonder if the sun

should come and get my things just done

so we can try, so we'll be fine

and out of ten, I get a nine.

Tuesdays I worry of the day,

the moment we will go away

and if we'll handle all this weight

and out of ten, I get an eight.

Wednesdays I think about the rose,

the flowers you'd never call "gross"

and wonder if I'll see you again

and out of ten, I get seven.

Thursdays I know that we will grow

and just get tired, and just turn old

and I'll stay with you when you're sick

and out of ten, I get a six.

Fridays I know the sacrifice

will move our ground and roll our dice

but I don't care, I will just dive

and out of ten, I get a five.

Saturdays I know that one day

You'll have to stop and put me away

but I'll be knocking at your door

and out of ten I get a four

Sometimes I guess that I'll be low

shattered and lost, but you won't know

and I'll tell you, still you won't see

and out of ten, I get a three.

On days I think that after that

I'll be alone, behind and sad

and you'll have nothing left to do

and out of ten, I get a two.

Often I worry that my dream

will be destroyed, and you'll hate me

and I will have to be on the run

and out of ten, I get a one.

Some days I know that I will die

in midst of all the truths and lies

and we will be burned by the sun

and out of ten, I just get none.

But still, there's hope that we will last

and prevail over blood and dust

and we'll fly on top of a dove

and out of life, I get your love.

Sarcasmo

Pídeme que pare el tiempo.
No es nada del otro mundo.
Pídeme atrapar la lluvia con las manos.
No es nada de otro mundo.
Pídeme que toque el Sol, pídeme el cielo en una caja de cartón, pídeme una mariposa de oro con el ala rota y el sueño ausente.
No es nada del otro mundo.
Pídeme que no me abandone a la soledad y al sarcasmo, después de vivir de espaldas a la verdad e ignorante del sufrimiento. Y pídeme que llore cada luna llena y cada pradera en llamas, cada viaje al olvido, cada final vacío.
No es nada del otro mundo.
Y pídeme que después del amanecer, sea feliz y viva en colores, bajo la luz de una estrella que promete desaparecer y no dejar huella, para que todos sepan que aun está ahí, aunque nadie sabrá dónde.
No es nada del otro mundo.

Pero recuerda que, bajo el manto de seda que abrazabas en la oscuridad, detrás de la puerta y en una escalera al cielo, encerrado en una carroza que avanza hacia la felicidad y en medio del verde bosque, estoy yo; esperando que recuerdes y que me dejes vivir en ti de nuevo.

Pídeme que deje de amarte.
No es nada del otro mundo.

Request

So dark what lies ahead, so sad, so uncomfortable. So lifeless and pitiful. So colorless and awkward, drained of energy, set on fire. The shade of a future with an upset look.

Give life, give love and fight the fire of hate with the power of wind. And though this fire might grow to the point of consuming the green of the earth, at last peace will be grown on a new land.

Don't lose this heart. Don't tear this body apart, don't shatter my wakened soul. Keep the key of this secret and use it wisely. Hang it around your neck, close to your own heart, and you will understand the pain of this time. Please don't panic if I tie an iron torture and jump to the water. Save me from the dark. Give me your hand, share with me what's left to stand in a golden line, in a divine love.

Take my life. It is now at your mercy. Love me in return.

Destiny

A real story, an unreal love, a surreal hate. The beat of a restless heart that changes its pace continuously and whose master turns out to be an outcast soul. The attempt of life to emerge from a dark abyss, left behind to be eaten by madness, engulfed by its own lies. This corrupted soul knows not how to love or hate, but tries to learn, tries to adapt, to forget its own past. And as it weeps, weaves a lifeless body, and takes control of its own creation before the body tries to betray the master and seize the day, live on his own, find joy.

And thus, a new soul is born. A soul whose destiny shines, far above the valleys and mountains of the earth, even to the darkest spaces of this and every universe that may exist. And the memory of this day shall pass on into eternity, and will be referred to as the day in which salvation was incarnated into the weakest of all creatures that have ever existed: a human.

So will be it, and hate will also be born to, once again, corrupt this soul and laugh to the shattered pieces while drifting away with the power of wind. Darkness will siege the fortress of light with such force that our galaxy will tremble with fear and sin, trying to hold on to the veil of Heavens. And all will be lost forever, gone and forgiven, dead and left unburied in an unholy realm. And no other savior will ever exist. No more light will be born and the evil soul will conquer even death itself.

Thus, salvation shall not fail, salvation shall not falter, nor shall it doubt. Not even once. The stronghold of mankind will last until they are called to serve their true master. For no real master exists but the Everything, the Creator, and His endless reign. The stars will shine on until consumed by their own brightness, the kind of brightness that only fantasy and dreams can create. And a song, the most beautiful of all songs, will be heard forever, at the end of the world and when the story of eternity is told. For there is no real story but that of the day in which an unreal love defeated a surreal hate.