Ya dije que las metáforas son peligrosas. El amor empieza por una metáfora. Dicho de otro modo: el amor empieza en el momento en que una mujer inscribe su primera palabra en nuestra memoria poética. Milán Kundera
5.2.10
The last song I'm wasting on you
Sparkling grey, they're my own veins. Any more than a whisper, any sudden movement of my heart. And I know, I know I'll have to watch them pass away.
Just get through this day
Give up your way, you could be anything. Give up my way, and lose myself. Not today. That's too much guilt to pay.
Sickened in the sun, you dare tell me you love me. But you held me down and screamed you wanted me to die. Honey you know, you know I'd never hurt you that way. You're just so pretty in your pain.
Give up my way, and I could be anything. I'll make my own way without your senseless hate... hate... hate... hate.
So run, run, run and hate me, if it feels good. I can't hear your screams anymore.
You lied to me but I'm older now and I'm not buying, baby.
Demanding my response, don't bother breaking the door down... I found my way out and you'll never hurt me again.
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