Este disco es para la gente triste y sol@

Ya Dejame En Paz

Viajando Con Sentimiento

Eres

Mi Nadie

El Quince

LHMT (Las Horas Mas Tristes) Vol. 1

Pa Que Llores

AMORADESAMOR

Que Te Hice Yo

RPTR

Asi O Mas Vega

Me Estoy Acostumbrando

Collab with my beloved demonic friend, Lorzha la Succube.
Lyrics:
The hills stand tall beneath the moon’s soft glow,  
their shadows are the treasures I forego.  
I trace their curves with fingertips of light,  
as night whispers its succulent plight .  

The city sprawls below, a jewelled sea,  
its vicious neon currents calling out to me.  
I stand above, yet feel its pulsing beat,  
a symphony of desire beneath my feet.  

I take off my heels and get in my car
I wake-up the furious five-litre V eight,
The road lights blur as I follow a star,
Barefoot and free, heading for my fate.

Shrugging off the curves, I feel that grip tight,
The cockpit smells of leather and Chanel’s number five
Heart racing fast, as the car is taking flight.
I’m a demon from the seventh circle when I drive.

The ocean is so close, the beach invites me.
I stop the car, my hands burning on the wheel.
I take off my clothes and run into the sea,
The water hums a song of black liquid steel. 

The sea begs me to stay a little bit more
But I rise like a naiad, fresh, born anew.  
The car waits like an ambushed predator,
but salt and water linger in my dreams of blue.

And as the dawn begins to kiss the sky,  
I’ll hold this peace, this wonder, deep inside.  
For though the day may claim its fleeting hour,  
the night still blooms within me like a flower.

Night on the hills

The night before her second Nobel Prize, five years after the death of her husband and collaborator Pierre, Marie Curie works alone in their lab.

She sings to him—about discovery, devotion, and the quiet order that love leaves behind.

From the original chamber musical Chaos and Code.
-------------------
YOU ALREADY KNEW

The lab is still, the air turned cold,  
Your empty chair is framed in gold.  
The watch you left still marks the hours,  
Your ticking heart among the flowers.  

You’d tap that glass when I was late,  
say patience is the proof of faith.  
I never learned it — only ran,  
from spark to spark, from plan to plan.  

The years dripped quiet, gray, and blue,  
the world kept turning, minus you.  
I filled the void with work and flame,  
and tried to give our dream a name.  

I chased the smallest pulse of light,  
the trembling law that shapes the night.  
In every shimmer light divides,  
your quiet hand is at my side.  
You used to say, “The world won’t hold—  
it only blooms where chaos grows.”  
And now I hear your voice again—  
you were right, my dearest friend.  

The balance isn’t something made,  
it’s something lived, and then conveyed.  
I thought I’d fix the noise to rest,  
but it’s the noise that loves us best.  

The hum, the light, the steady tone—  
they sound like home, they sound like home.  

They’ll write my name in gold by dawn,
but I would trade the prize, the song,
to show you now, the proof we sought—
the peace your work and love have wrought.
-----------------------

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