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Writing a song is not going fast
How those who assume want to go quickly
What is a physiological and mundane act
How to digest and create waste

Writing a song is creating a storm
In the heart of the one who stops her with pain
It is an irreverent and lonely act
As is the confession of a condemned man

It's going to heaven and opening the door
Entering the room of a nightgod God
And wait until he's asleep
To steal some verse of his

Leave slowly without leaving a trace
And plot against great danger
That they find out that a bohemian God
He is the author of what you share

If I wrote to write sometimes
To increase inventory in the pantry
If an assignment forced me to sacrilege
To feel like an architect of emotions

If writing a song is not exercise
That improves with practice and time
It's slapping the routine
And tear the skin of the impossible

It's going to heaven and opening the door
Entering the room of a nightgod God
And wait until he's asleep
To steal some verse of his
Leave slowly without leaving traces
And plot against great danger
That they find out that a bohemian God
He is the author of what you share

Let it be clear that the songs
We stole them from a sleeping God