I hear my train
is coming town
but I have just gotten here
My darling wave
but I'm already gone
Doesn't she know I only wave hello
And when we tried to escape
we came back again
we're just learning how to get lost
and when she's trying to kiss
that guy in front of me
I think she may just be learning to love

I Hear The Train

I shoul've become
a fighter in suit
to live in the eyes
and die in the hands

is everything real for me?
(is everything, ever real?)

Reveler

no sound
Oh, I should love it
no sound
your silence is golden
no sound
should I really love it?
no sound
does your silence means something

Oh I'm getting - tired 
to translate - the voice
when the sound doesn't - travel
from your mouth to - the noise

no words
no signs that tells me, you are there
no moves
of the mouth so many times, I've kissed
no laughs
no tears, no time, no crying
no calls
we are the kind, to wait 

I'm getting - tired 
to translate - the voice
when the sound doesn't - travel
from your mouth to - the noise

No silence

why must we call it art?
why must it be all?
well, I'll try hard
for this not to be called

And shit all over the papers
And spit on every picture
I'll yell in my songs
I'll write everything backwards
I'll just kill the bull
and then 

stop the ground from melting
and your shoe from stepping
into their faces
to call it art

Don't Call It Art

There are some theme
that may lose your sense
in your sense
you are giving for free
the ever need of
your company
to sell you
the way that you live
and look

for love
for loving
you live because
it makes you feel free
(even when you are confined)

since they sell that
you are giving in
you are even 
more entwined
but you
don't mind some sight
of everywhere
you go
all the time

someone to love
or something to love
some that it feels
made of something real
(that's just like you)
for love
for loving
you live because
it makes you feel free
(even you are confined)

(even when you are confined
even when you are confined you believe
even when you are confined you feel fine
and when you are confined you give in)

something to love
something to throw love in
something that's empty, and waiting for fill
of someone like you
of someone like you
someone like you
(believe it's the place that you should be)
(this is the way that you should be)

Jar (Someone Like You)

Isn't this
the beautiful morning
that you waited for
and wanted to last
forever

And these, eyes
cry, for you
and these lives
die, for you

Isn't this the beautiful morning
that you waited for
and wanted to last
forever

And these, eyes
cry, for you
and these lives
die, for you

Beautiful Morning (These Eyes)

He lose
his time
of yesterday
today

close
(the last chapter)
sleep
(the last chapter)
die
(the last chapter)
meet an end

And he will never be remember
but he'll die with memories of writers
that will laugh at him in heaven
while he burst in hell

no one will find him
and no one will read his words

Writer In The City

Airnet

I don't need to see the last glare
I realise this is the perfect face

and, mind me, I'll take it

I don't need to watch for my own steps
I am just a copycat surrounded by dogs

and, mind me, I'll avoid them

the glasses keep me in good care
there's nothing for no one to steal (from me)

Still I am
wide open to the 
world
Still I am
out there searching 
for words

And I'm turning into what I learn
And I'm turning as fast as you behave

and mind me, I'll mimic

The Mimic

I can touch you again
Oh, silver light
Thought I needed friends
but I needed rights
not in the last chance
I would ever deny you
and I can come back
wherever, you want to

to any place
to that your sound
in any color you want

Silverlight/Golden

In the background
is the sound 
of iron cages
crashing

On the verge
of the eyes
they are rolling
as we.

Inside every vehicle of chaos
are driving the monsters of men awaiting

Below the shadows of green emperors
their eyes are careful of their exteriors

At the standing
facing the wall
of crimson bricks
I'm sweating

If I climb them
and should fall
I fall with them
And I win

There are no tales of people that rage
the walls that force us to stay where we are
'Cause we are asleep in the dreams we wish
teh nightmares of prison/freedom, in vacuum and blank

(And have you thought
what we have in common
Walking the streets
yet feel so uncommon
What are there words we
are trying to fit in
the things we say now
are the things well say less)

Power Over Power

Informalities

No soy ningún virtuoso de la guitarra, menos del canto, solo subo lo que me divierte. Todo sonido de guitarra es hecho con una guitarra acústica con cuatro desafinadas cuerdas. Y alguna percusión que se escuche, solo soy yo golpeando algo.

C.JO.D-DS.CORTEX

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