In the back of my car
I carry a couple of bags
Smelling like shit
I'm drivin' right to the south

AC/DC and Black Sabbath
The route is now mine
Moaning outta my stereo
Another bottle of wine!

Blood fever! Blood fever!

Fuckin' everyone around
With this devilish sound
My trunk is dripping some blood
I have the cops in my back.

Well, I don't give a fuck
I'm just gonna kill 'em all
I have my .45
GOOD-FUCKIN BYE!

Imminent Nervous Breakdown

Cold wind enters from my window,
the bedroom's still warm.
Not even your absence can change it,
Why is everything so damn calm?

I can feel it coming, it cannot hide from me.
My hands sweat as the fear grows,
deep into my guts, agony shows her face
and walks to me really slow.

As it was some kind of ghost,
an angel of sudden death,
it bites strongly my thoughts
and swallows my deepest wealth.

Emotions.

Last emotions left.

Why am I trembling?
"Who's there? Show your face!"
Wish I'd never said that words.
Horror made flesh on a blaze.

Frozen veins, no feelings left.
Evil thoughts run through my brain.
Self-destruction, self-hatred.
I want to break free from this pain!

Would this be my requiem?
Would this be my last breath?
Suddenly, i feel my soul leaving.
Now i'm free from death's threat.

Death of a cold winter.

Winter's dying,
what the heck.
Newborn flowers
for my incoming death.

Lights of the city
can't show me the path.
Slow motion, unhappy days...
reminds me always to the past.

I've got a crown of thorns
My face turning red as my blood runs cold.
Beady eye, I can feel it,
fading to black, dying memories in my mind;

memories bleeding from my throat.
Feels like falling into pieces,
a hole in my chest grows and grows.

May my body rest in suicide beaches.

Cut

As the shadows fall,
the razorblade
carves my skin
in mysterious ways.

I bleed by my veins,
my forearms turned red.
Flooding the floor,
blood drops unleashing pain.

Perfect lines in my arms,
liquid red down the drain,
mutilated flesh;
dwell goes down the drain.

Every single memory
is a mark of pain.
No one's around,
I'm alone in my wasteland.

I can't blame you
or anyone else,
winter froze me
and summer died on pain.

Sheets of notebooks fall
down from the trees
and I had to learn
to write on leaves.

Cold wind blows
in my heart
as it bleeds like a river.
Now I feel alive!

Is this my forehead
or my feet?
I stand in front of the mirror
and I can't see me.

"Rain falls down"
my window says,
nothing but grey...
creeping images would end my days.

La vida en patines

Volar. Volar, sentir el viento en la cara, ser libre de veras por unos momentos. Caerse y levantarse constantemente para conseguirlo. No hay nada mejor que eso, un espíritu liberado que vuela sobre el pavimento y ni siquiera el derrame de sangre lo para.

La vida puede tener atisbos de belleza en esas ocasiones, cuando las rodillas se flexionan y la velocidad aumenta a cada patada en el suelo. Vale la pena romperse el cuerpo para curarse el alma, eso es absoluto.

El vértigo es una sensación alternativa al dolor físico que nos ayuda a sobrellevar con paciencia el devenir del mundo, las vicisitudes del pasado y del presente, y la niebla del futuro. Aquellos débiles que no podemos lidiar con lo "real" (es decir, todos) nos creamos nuestros propios fantasmas.

Pero a veces la vida sólo es estar vestido de negro, bajo la lluvia, en una esquina con un paraguas y un fondo musical tétrico y gris, música de piano y una voz de ultratumba. Entonces es que resbalamos, esa lluvia nos hace caer de nuestro vuelo, perdemos el vértigo y caemos sobre la calle sobre nuestros codos, y sangramos, sangramos, sangramos. Nuestras rodillas se tiñen de rojo punzó y quizá entre las gotas de la lluvia se camufle una lágrima...

Así es la vida en patines.