1. |
||||
|
Don’t think more
because you’ve shot in my skull
and you broke my head,
you broke my bones.
Please fire your gun to my head,
is the Law that I ask
nothing is needed
for know that death
comes to my lungs.
-
Please fire your gun to my head.
-
I’ll wait until you… fire your gun,
because in your hands
it’s all destruction.
And please cut my tongue!
-
Please fire your gun to my head.
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
Our love it lasted two silences
and one thousand nights on memory,
this love is the root
of a tree trunk
that born and grew up blind,
where I go?
-
Your death is my death,
the mine is yours.
where are you?
-
Why I came to this,
to my place, the otherness,
if our place was
common?
-
We went until the root,
but the root was very… short?
|
||||
3. |
A man dead in 66 street.
04:35
|
|||
|
I've seen while walking
a man dead
in the Street,
and i felt the military envy
of know the Truth.
-
Seems which he had fallen
from the top of a building,
his skull was broken
and the blood covered the street.
-
It was raining, it was raining…
In the 66 street there was a dead man
and he seems to me.
|
||||
4. |
||||
|
Desolation,
at the beginning and the end.
Only deads and wounded
in this search of calm and love.
We are not,
we are not,
this War isn’t complementarity,
I go back your mirrors,
and you go…
back of… your own mirrors.
|
||||
Pure Archives Medellin, Colombia
Pure es una casa, un rugido, un graznido, un libro de ruido y experimentación.
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