Spontaneous moment

We're busted...
we are pure lies.
just images.
blowed up in the air...

We don't care,
but they know that;
that's horrible...

There's nothing we can do...

The hours pass by
and we try not to die in that instant,
tied up with our self lies,
the rope to our tight
and bright
and beautiful
neck...

Rancid sounds
in the dawn of the dark...
it's saturday
(i'm not used to frequent saturdays)
but Armstrong sais that is good...

She's crying,
I seem not to care right now...
despite of the chords ringin' very well
I know the images.
They tell me that is EVERYTHING alright...
I doubt...

Two mates sleepin' in my place...
A strange night, really!
A shelter for rotten minds...

esteban porronett (principios del 2008)