the permanent culture of making movies
the endless adventure of taking secrets
secrets that belong to two strangers
two strangers caught in the glimpse of time

Fast, fast, fast, fast oh you forgot so fast
not like the previous one
fast, fast, fast, fast your life is a moving train
and i'm just a passenger

the journalistic twist in childhood friends
the endless discoveries on random particles
sisters on pale common sickness
brothers on lost fucked mornings

the beautiful encounter one year before
just when you are alredy taken
the last dance before cleaning the bathroom
those last eyes you will see shining

now they are just digital blues
some odd numbers on lcd walls
snippets of text on bleached walls
black seals of inked white fur


beautiful pain in my heel
maybe i'm overfeelingmyself
some new records on the playlist
i barely know what i'm listening

i wish i was healed
walk and walk in front of the river
this is my only dream
can i confess this thing to you?

vultures killed the turkeys
the heads float adrift
hectic sun warms the oil
when the sound is pleasing

plumbs fall to the soil
when the soul is ripe
we die quickly
you should'nt check out

stupid flowers
and romantic stones
little canyons
made of dark feelings

heaven's cotton
of empty desires
leaving faster
cause they are full

a second movie
never ends good
a movie made of
Backwards poems_


Does it count? does it count?
when the air reminds someone else
is it right? is it fair?
when is a cloud-clusterfuck of nerves

crossing up your chest
lifting you from the lungs
then you realize all above
just images in your head, Please...

steal my mornings
backstab me with your nose
shoot me with your film
filter my bleached frame

i just caught up when you were floating
lying by the look of my eyes
lying by the sight of my nose
caught up by the time of your hair

steal my sunsets
punch me with your charm
wait for my mistakes.


have faith in me
have faith in me

give me a point in the map and i'll move the world for you
give me a bit of time i'll give you the rest of my light


miserable lights roaming thru the night
using the moonlight as a excuse
endless hills made of dead soil
endless kilometers that eat love

waiting for the last bus to leave
the best place around the bend
walking in some purple sunset
filled of drunks and tiles

being the father of a puking mother
is not an easy job to do
being the sister of a decaying model
the tide of time beneath me

gettin' fined by travelling with wheels
gettin' fined just for exist
friends are joined at the back of the bus
that last just the length of the road

some relationships last three days
some last three months, three years
thousand days to reinvent the flame
is better on different escapes

pessimistic reasoning make bad companionship
golden words made from naìve books
brilliant assholes made from isolated egos
thin days made from endless fury


because the hand is ill
not because the pencil is broken
at the end of this ink
leaving no ideas

resting on the sea
resting outward patterns
seeing different things
having other filter

dark things to rust
dark leaves on acid
dark green miles
dark green forests

someone will force you to waste
why writing letters?
just an hour in the train
dying pacefully

no particular pace
with no sense of rhythym
with no sense of space
leaning backwards

i don't have more mind
i don't have any creativity
is a stupid style
writing backwards


i'ts difficult to write
when your heart is
blocked by the lens

i'ts difficult to write
in the train with no rails
with the brain with no shape

i'ts difficult to read
when you're reading
someone else's affair

i'ts difficult to read
life when you only see
people and his webs

i'ts difficult to live
when you don't adapt
when your name is fixed

i'ts difficult to live
when you're the only leaf
surrounded by concrete

i'ts difficult to end
when i can't find the dots
for your precious being

i'ts difficult to end
when the're are white lines
waiting to be read


no tongue allowed
no dream to pursuit
no feelings attached
to a man and his suit

no other languages
no looking back
no chance to get lost
to a man and his bag

no way to show anger
no hope to release the fist
thru a block of air
to the morning mist

no tongue allowed
no lean to percive
two watches two queens
two heads no sure

no hugs allowed
to the man in full rage
no books allowed
to the fool who can't hear

Nancy, be careful who you ask we're not the ones
who write lines to throw'em into sand, to throw'em into
papers who someone fills it up, who someone discard
the recipes of the bank account and think is free to roam

City, let me tell you that i hate your vagina
aim who sickened me the lungs, to breath your
false hope and promise of the north, you blame it
on the sun, i blame it on your sufoccating pavement


why are you such a machine?
why do you smell my flesh?
is there another song for me?
am i a song for anyone else?

was i tasting the blood of my enemy?
was i drooling in his propiety?
is the wind of your hair reachable?
can i stop the time while it floats?

did my dreams knew you?
did my knees reach the bet?
is there a prize anyways?
or the luck is just for those?

does the kiss of the robots means love?
or the sex is too bored to be filmed?
am i a lust for someone else?
or a dream in someone's bed?

i'm a good man, i'm a nice man
i just make jobs for the stoke
a common man who likes clean water
like you want your clear money

so why do you treat me that way, fucking journalist!?
why do you treat me that way, fucking journalist?!

the minutes you work for me
by the ads you make
the mistakes i made
loving your virtous words

so why do you treat me that way, fucking journalist!?
why do you treat me that way, fucking journalist?!

did'nt i made your schedule
did'nt i make you write
stop with your enquiries
both know you'll be back

all they have your number
and you know their fate
superficial editing
superficial parade

drunk on your soul
numbers on your eyes
i know yor rage

please don't call that person
don't call
they don't know you anymore

dont' call
you have nothing more to say


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