Lunes

Monday, in the morning,
I only see clouds, through the window,
and a bad vibe rises up my throat,
with a thin thread of crazy light.

I enter the metro's mouth,
where I join,
where I go in,
and no one knows the dream I have.

Just a girl who elbows me as she gets on,
who tickles me and whose eyes shine,
makes me wake up a bit.

Today, I don't feel responsible,
I don't want to leave the bar,
my wires are crossed,
and I can't fix them.

Don't tell me more details,
of how I can escape,
make a plan that never fails,
I can make it fail.

You go down, you go up,
I don't know what's happening to me,
that I'm always in the clouds,
nine in the morning.

Time is consumed,
like the ash of my cigarette,
that dies in an iron ashtray,
where I also turn off and on,
where I find myself and where I get lost.

A smile shines,
that shows me a path,
that to me is like the thorn to pain,
and my soul wakes up a bit.

Today, I don't feel responsible,
I don't want to leave the bar,
my wires are crossed,
and I can't fix them.

Don't tell me more details,
of how I can escape,
make a plan that never fails,
I can make it fail.