viernes, 4 de julio de 2014


                                                 Willard Grant Conspiracy: calor humano.
Hacía tanto calor que te convertiste en un esqueleto. Tibias para cocer y anatomía por conocer. Chupada y ausente como un polo en un patio de recreo. Todo huesos.

Javier Mateos

There's a big bird flying low
Across the open plain
There's a big wheel turning round
Where I left your name

We could turn this car around
Admit to a mistake
Find another road
But they all look the same

All I want to do
All I want to do
Is rise
All I want to do
Is put clothes on the skeleton

It's no good just standing there
The door is kicked
The lock is blown
Half of everything is gone
From half of everything I own

There;s an element of truth
in all that's said and done
when there's nothing left to lose
like new clothes for a skeleton


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