1. |
Guerrero
03:04
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Candle illumination makes her cry. Reminds of the day her father died. Her little sister held her hand so small in hers and the weight of the world couldn’t hit any harder.
It was 1927, all buried in the lies, because no one wants to know the truth that’s hidden in her eyes. Her eyes are mine.
The streets of Mexico will tell the story about a girl from Guerrero that lived with fury and never gave up a chance to make things right.
The wounds you leave are who you are. The people you hurt are the people you want to trust. But you can’t.
And she can’t sleep alone at night because Ray’s no longer there. To save her from the memories that give her nightmares. And she wakes up to the everyday of this violent town. Wishing he were still around.
The streets of Mexico will tell the story about a girl from Guerrero that lived with fury and never gave up a chance to make things right.
The wounds you leave are who you are. The people you hurt are the people you want to trust. But you can’t.
And we know, and we’ll say “everything is ok”, singing anthems screaming your name. But the fact of the matter is my insides shatter because I know it’s too easy to say goodbye not knowing if you’ll live or die. Costera nights will eat you alive, you don’t you if you’re coming back tonight.
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2. |
Forever Gone
02:40
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Dear Zack,
I feel like I’m drifting, I feel like I’m drifting away from the Beacon nights and the songs that ignite our souls everyday.
It’s hard to let go. It’s easier to forget, than having to realize that for others life goes on…I just can’t stand it…
Promises broken, constantly letting myself down. Are the moments we treasure forever gone? I’ll see you around.
Promises broken, constantly letting ourselves down. Are the moments we treasure forever gone? I’ll see you around the next time I’m in town.
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3. |
Personal Politics
03:47
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Rain in December means it’s cold but not too cold. I think about the times that I was so alone. It was freezing and the season was drowning out my name. I never tried to compromise or underline the choices I made.
Try to know you, try to hold you in my arms, but you say I hurt you... is this really falling apart? I am failing, I am breaking, self-destruction's here to stay. So forgive me for forsaking the sweetness you give me every single day.
Endless nights without sleep, fragments of angst are falling on me. Morning perceptions will fade and the feeling of hating myself doesn't matter any way…
It doesn't matter any way…because I'm a poet of frustration, I never do what I think is right. I just waste the time, ruin the life of the only person that makes me feel alive.
It's all about me, what is around me I can't see. I try to make you believe that the reason I'm so fucked up is 'cause you barely notice me.
We'll try to relate to the kids that feel the same way. It's ok to feel so fucked up, it's ok to be unhappy.
I'm going bald, I'm afraid to die, will you still want me when I get back tonight? I think about the times I said goodbye, it keeps me awake every single night. It breaks my heart to see you cry, so sorry about the time I passed the line. It breaks my heart to see you cry, so sorry, so sorry.
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4. |
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Try to talk about it…It doesn’t matter anyway. So let’s just forget about it and drown in resent and hate.
You tell me that you’re full of regrets and you can’t let go. I tell you I don’t know if I’m happy but I don’t want to be alone…but we play the game of
who’s gonna take the the fall? Who’s gonna take the blame for all these things that we do and what we try to say? Who’s gonna take the fall? Who’s gonna take the blame?
So every time you lose your pace, I put on a smile and I try to stay sane and while you interrogate your prey, I think of ways to try to escape.
But my friends don’t know me, they accept my apologies, but my friends they know me they’ll see me screaming:
I am a stereotype, my idiosyncrasies have all died. Have all died.
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5. |
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There are moments when it’s hard to pretend that I’m actually listening to a word you say. My mind drifts away to all the secrets that keep me nightly awake.
But I’m coming to terms, everything ends. December you’re sweetening my impending death.
I don’t want to die in an office and become a burden for my soul. But nostalgia is my state of mind. Living one blue valentine at a time because I know that something broke.
Remember the Saturday afternoons under the sun and in the rain? We didn’t care where we went or if we didn’t have a place to stay. Now nothing seems to be good enough. What have we become? Charring memories.
But I sold myself out to a lie. I feel like I’m being used in this last final try.
I don’t want to die on a subway thinking that I’ll never make it home, when that home never loved me and would have ended up always hurting me. But that’s something I’ll never know.
How can you lie with a straight face? I
don’t want to die in an office and become the traitor of my soul. But every drop of sweat while I play will ease the pain for past mistakes and will remind me that I’ll always have a home.
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