| You can pull up me the heart of the chest
and to transform into delicate murmur my voice,
to only reduce an entire life to a line.
You can on me to give slanted opinion,
to criticize my occupation that is not future!,
that I feed the blaze of the imagination.
He/she can that the rain falls on the sky,
that the sea, confused, go to a river to die,
that in the night he sings the rooster a morning that with
the souls went to have a good time.
I live with the passion to skin flower,
among verses you found my home,
she waits to that returns
and while I keep their kisses and their voice
in my heart.
I look for in the road all the answers
and I have given myself bill that they are in my,
comunicador of dreams wants to be...
Musician is, musician will be,
driver of sensations to your skin,
I manufacture memories that you tie with nostalgia to my song.
I will never be able to leave it,
my life is a song,
I am sculptor of the soul,
I am musician and master in key of sun
Until it tolerated my voice.
We are crazy of tiing,
we are minstrels that in your city
we give color brushstrokes
to your gray reality.
We are half gentlemen,
half bohemians and lying,
we are not what a father wants
for their daughter baby.
Until the body tolerated,
until he wants my voice,
until the body tolerated
I will continue living just as I am. |
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