El color es una circunstancia a la que no admitimos duda. El blanco es blanco. El negro es negro. Black is black. Y el amor es una caída venturosa de irisaciones permanentes, torzales llenos de color.
No por crepúsculo se retornan mis ojos. Siempre verán. Si pueden, más allá de lo que alcancen. El color siempre nos protege de la euforia del blanco. Aunque sea el negro. Siempre color.
Did I work on the battlefield? Did I do what I thought was right? Did I do all that I could do? Did I put up a good fight?
Did I love all that I should? To everyone in my sight? What did I do with my life?
Did I exercise giving And forgiveness with all my might? Did I honor my freedom And did I live in the light?
Did I cherish my moments? Did I take a good enough bite? What did I do with my life?
You can live any way you wanna All you have to do is dance Achieve anything you thought of You just have to take the chance You can fall in love with your life 'Cause that truly is romance What did I do with my life?
Did I learn what I came to learn? Did I listen with my heart? Did I do what I came to do? And how did I play the part? Did I see all the beauty? Because living is an art What did I do with my life?
You can live any way you wanna All you have to do is dance Achieve anything you thought of You just have to take the chance Learn to love your life 'Cause that truly is romance Oh what did I do with my life?
What did I do? Say it again What did I do With my life? Oh What did I do?
What did I do? With my life What did I do? What did I do?
Llorar como lo haría una llama. Prender en un extremo del aire un encuentro radiante. Y llorar. Modos de iluminar, si se quiere, en su vertiente más acuosa.
Mi viejo amor. ¿Qué parte arde pensadamente? ¿Qué parte se debate en humo? Viejo amor es estructura poderosa. Seguramente no es tan viejo. ¿Se nos renueva el viejo amor? ¿Hasta cuándo?
My old flame I can't even think of her name But it's funny now and then How my thoughts go flashing back again To my old flame.
My old flame My new lovers all seem so tame 'Cause I haven't met a girl So magnificent or elegant As my old flame.
I've met so many who had fascinating ways A fascinating gaze in their eyes Some who took me up to the sky's But their attempts at love Were only imitations of.
My old flame I can't even think of her name But I'll never be the same Until I discover what became Of my old flame.
My old flame I can't even think of her name But I'll never be the same Until I discover what became Of my old flame.
El equivalente del musgo en nuestra piel, ¿qué sería? El acampar del musgo entre las piedras, el revelarlas húmedas. ¿Seríamos sombríos si nos creciera el musgo o simplemente sería una bella cualidad de agregarnos a lo más húmedo de la tierra?
