It's 4 PM,
a new day rises
you don't speak with almost anybody
because of your melancholy.
They say your friends are
the ones who lead you astray
but is that you're the black sheep
and you complicate by yourself,
you go with great difficulty
you get out of your gate
because lately they can't wake you up
because you're made a mess,
because you appear to me like ghosts
like a bad tune,
your words get blocked
if the police checks you.
At least recognize which is
your source of energy,
that always imagines your world upside down,
a prison without escape,
a foolish way of passing
with pity and without glory
but nobody really cares now
how you will end.
It's 12 AM,
your hunt begins
because you no longer hide
because of your thirst of joy.
They say your friends are
the ones who lead you astray
but is that you're the black sheep
and you complicate by yourself,
you go with great difficulty
you get out of your gate
because lately they can't wake you up
because you're made a mess,
because you appear to me like ghosts
like a bad tune,
your words get blocked
if the police checks you.
At least recognize which is
your source of energy,
that always imagines your world upside down,
a prison without escape,
a foolish way of passing
with pity and without glory
but nobody really cares now
how you will end.