lunes, 28 de marzo de 2011

                                                           Daddy's little girl, that's me.
                                                    The one who used to look up at him,
                                                        with admiration filling my eyes.

                                           Looking at him now, eyes fill with the burn of neglect as
                                                      my mind is consumed by questions.
                                       Remember when you held my hand to cross the street?
                              Remember when you used to tuck me into bed and say I love you?
                                                Remember when yelling wasn't a daily thing?
                                             I hate not hearing you say "I'm so proud of you!"
                                                    I hate hearing " You stupid lazy bitch!"

                                                The alcohol has consumed the father I loved,
                                                 consumed the loving man you once was.
                                                   Now it's left you hateful towards all,
                                                        wanting to end life and leave.

                                               "I have nothing left here except my beer."
                                                   But daddy, I'm here... look at me!
                                                     Look at me with love and hope!
                                         I can't help, I've tried! Stop pushing everyone away!
                                                   "I just want to be with my father."

                                  But daddy in time you will be, I just want to be with MY father.
                                         Don't rob me of this; don't rob me of my daddy.

sábado, 26 de marzo de 2011

                                                           They sent him off to prison,
                                                           for refusing to be lead.
                                                           But when they found his empty cell,
                                                           it was painted black and red.

                                                           Four men hung in Chicago
                                                          for murder it was said;
                                                          but all that they were guilty of,
                                                          was wearing black and red.

                                                           On the streets of Barcelona,
                                                          they were piling up the dead.
                                                           A rotting stack of corpses,
                                                           all wearing black and red.

                                                         One cold day in Utah,
                                                         a blindfold round his head,
                                                        they put him up against the wall,
                                                         for wearing black and red.

                                                         At the strike in Oaxaca,
                                                        he chased them till they fled,
                                                      but they turned around and shot him
                                                        for wearing black and red.

                                                       And when it comes to my turn,
                                                        remember what I said:
                                                        Put me in a cardboard box,
                                                         and paint it black and red.
                                       We see how hard you try.
                     Can't you see it in my eyes?
                    Fighting for the smallest goal.
                    To gain a little self control.
            I see it in your eyes. I see it in your spine.
               So call your friends,cause we've forgotten
                   What its like to eat whats rotten.
                    What's eating you alive.
                      Might help you to survive.
                 Even the nights they could get better.    

PD: Sí, hace meses que no estaba. Mi vida no ha estado en su mejor momento. He estado a punto de borrar algunas de las anteriores entradas, pero no lo he hecho. Eso sí, el día que me raye quito alguna de esas gilipolleces. En resumen, que ya ha vuelto la zorra psicótica. Temblad.