At the armchair, I've left you
the paints and a blank story.
There is no beginning nor end,
just what you want to go telling.
And when breathing
try to be who furnishes the air
which when inhaled
brings you the world of this side.
At the armchair, I've left you
the paints and a blank story.
I go to another place,
it may be a long journey.
The bubble in which I grew up
sold us convenience
and a knot among our hands. [1]
I chose ambiguity.
You, the phantom and reality,
all in the same boat.
And when breathing
I propose to be myself who furnishes the air
which when inhaled
brings me the world of this side.
To breathe
so strongly that the air gets broken.
Although this time,
if I don't breathe, it's to avoid suffocating myself.
Try not to breathe...
Try not to breathe...
And when breathing
I propose to be myself who furnishes the air
which when inhaled
brings me the world of this side.
To breathe
so strongly that the air gets broken.
Although this time
perhaps it would be better to go away.
Try not to breathe...
Try not to breathe...