Msica: M. Garca Garca-Perez/Q. Portet. Letra: M. Garca Garca-Perez. Tela, cinta,. otra vez a empezar.. Lpiz, tinta,. y al paisaje a robar.. Y al placer de reencontrar.
Rolling, tumbling, climbing, swinging. . Falling, crying, laughing, singing. singing, laughing. . Running, hiding, pushing, sliding. . Pulling, spinning, losing, winning.
Msica: M. Garca Garca-Perez/Q. Portet. Letra: M. Garca Garca-Perez. Tela, cinta,. otra vez a empezar.. Lpiz, tinta,. y al paisaje a robar.. Y al placer de reencontrar.
Just like that, like nothing, this is where I am.. A million lifetimes pass away like a billion other plans.. Like lint or dreams or giggling schemes.
Msica: Q. Portet/M. Garca Garca-Perez. Letra: Q. Portet. En la niebla del anochecer. mora el ngel de la confusin.. Oh!, dulce y cruel invierno.. Y en la triste hora de marchar.
LOVE AND RAIN. . It takes a lot of rain to make a flower grow. Yes it takes a lot of love and rain. And it makes a lot of pain to see you. Stepping out.
Sailin' away on the crest of a wave. It's like magic. Rollin' and ridin' and slippin' & slidin'. It's magic. . [CHORUS]. And you, and your sweet desire,.
When I am scared, You are my Father. When I cant breathe, You are the air. When I cant swim, You are a lifeboat. When Im tired and weary, You are there.
It gets tough and lonely sometimes. And your spirit's barely holding on. What could I say to make you stay?. What could I give? What words do you need to hear?.
I stepped into the room late last night. Because late is the time I keep. You were sleeping warm as coal. In a pocket of comfort and white sheets. . But you don't startle anymore when I step into the room.
This time let's not bring up my disasters. Or put me on some couch like Sigmund Freud. Your textbooks filled with hypothetical answers. So to summarize she called it null and void.
I'm only seventeen, but I want much more than a small town girl should bargain for. More than standing in one place, waiting for the next james dean I live in a town that's.
I've got a farm house,. It's a big white farmhouse. And forty acres in my head. You got a kitchen,. It's an oak floor kitchen. And a big brass feather bed.
You're my flesh and blood. But we're not the same. A common name. And now. A common distance. . I looked up to you. In your plush armchair. Respect or fear.
You said, "don't wait up, don't count the minutes.". So here I am watching paint fade from the walls.. On the tv, planes are dancing to the national anthem,.
Preacher won't you preach to me,. I need a pint of philosophy.. I'm hurt and thirsty, set me on my way.. Mondays come and mondays go,. But this one seems to be sort of slow..
Listen around the world.. Compress beats that build.. Talk, town, drowns, in the master plan.. Reset my world, keepsake forgotten.. Reflex of a man, cut off his arms,.