martes, 15 de julio de 2008

Volcano



"Volcano"

Don't hold yourself like that
You'll hurt your knees
I kissed your mouth and back
But that's all I need
Don't build your world around volcanoes melt you down

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea

Don't throw yourself like that
In front of me
I kissed your mouth your back
Is that all you need?
Don't drag my love around volcanoes melt me down

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea
Is just what I'm going through
This is nothing new
No no just another phase of finding what I really need
Is what makes me bleed
And like a new disease she's still too young to treat
Like a distant tree
Volcanoes melt me down
She's still too young
I kissed your mouth
You do not need me

sábado, 12 de julio de 2008

Jeff Buckley - So Real

love, let me sleep tonight on you couch
and remember the smell of the fabric
of your simple city dress

oh... that was so real

we walked around til the moon got full like a plate
the wind blew an invocation and i fell asleep at the gate
and i never stepped on the cracks 'cause i thought i'd hurt my mother
and i couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under
pulled me under

oh... that was so real

i love you, but i'm afraid to love you
i love you, but i'm afraid to love you
i'm afraid. . .

oh... that was so real

Damien Rice me llevó a esto.

viernes, 11 de julio de 2008

Aquí dentro:

"¿Quizá estoy loco?- pensaba muy a menudo- ¿quizá no soy como los demás hombres?
Sin embargo, era capaz de hacer todo lo que hacían los demás. Con un poco de aplicación y trabajo podía leer a Platón, resolver problemas de trigonometría o seguir un análisis clínico. Pero había una cosa de la que no era capaz: arrancar la meta vital que se ocultaba oscuramente en mi interior y plasmarla ante mis ojos, como lo hacían todos aquellos que sabían perfectamente que iban a ser profesor o juez, médico o artista, cuánto tardarían en llegar y qué ventajas tendrían. Yo no podía.(...) Yo solo intentaba vivir lo que pugnaba por salir de mí mismo, ¿por qué resultaba tan difícil?"


"El camino de la mayoría es fácil, el nuestro difícil. Caminemos"