La Oveja Negra

The black sheep turned into wax
And a sentence hangs on his temple
If he doesn't soon take a moon bath
With so much fruit, it sticks to his feet
In the memory of a teenage dream
Remains the memory of a winner
And while flirting with so many stars
The most screwed up one took him
He went to ask, barefoot,
For some shoes
Underestimated the power
Behind comfort
He was a hurried walker trapeze artist
And didn't want to step on the stick
But at night, he arrived playing
And in the mornings, to confess!
He lost his hair, and also his tricks,
Even the comfort of a little alcohol,
No more adventures, he spends his time typing
To see if he escapes through the monitor
Nothing happened: dreams are corrected.
And today he travels through the computer, chasing freedom
And a bad love was chaining him
Prisoner of love, serving a sentence.
And a bad love was chaining him
Prisoner of love, serving a sentence.