Amigos con Derecho

Amor De Lejos

3 AM

Sin Pagar Renta

Con Una Mirada

Quiero Presumirte

A Puro Dolor

Conexión

Baby

Baby (Version Norteña)

LHTL

OOTD

The streets exhale the weight of time,
Cobblestones pressed by countless feet.
Yet hands arrive to smooth the years,
To bleach the walls, to strip the heat.

They paint the air with promises thin,
Reshape the corners where lives begin.
No place for shade, no room for rest,
Just towers built on broken chests.

Where voices lingered, silence grows,
The roots are cut, the story goes.
We build, displace, erase the past—
And call it progress, call it vast.

The baker’s laugh, the singer’s plea,
The rhythm of a neighborhood free—
Now echoes faint beneath the steel,
A scaffold raised where hearts could heal.

The soil remembers the weight of breath,
The pulse of hands that carved no death.
But we replace what will not break
With fragile glass and what we take.

Where voices lingered, silence grows,
The roots are cut, the story goes.
We build, displace, erase the past—
And call it progress, call it vast.

Each brick laid down conceals a name,
Each polished floor denies its shame.
The facades shine, but the soul retreats,
The hollow shells now line the streets.

Where voices lingered, silence grows,
The roots are cut, the story goes.
We build, displace, erase the past—
And call it progress, call it vast.

What will remain when the dust is clear?
Not the laughter, not the fear.
Only the wind through hollow frames,
Only the ghosts who know our names.

Call it progress

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