Sometimes in the glimmers of sleepless and hostile nights
When I hear the mold of time moaning
And through my sad thoughts sneaks
The play of fantasies from my childhood fairy tales

I draw on the (?) Gray of my insomnia
Fiery sketches or crazy figures
Lines make fires at the bottom of infinity
And joyful pyres to burn our idols

In the morning the light plays with the stained glass
Where I painted my delusions
With naive accents in a chiaroscuro
Under the brushstrokes and austere faces
That will never return

So in the blind spot of my future seasons
I leave you as I depart my sweetest smile
My most tender tears, and my tender murmurs
Just enough time to learn to go mad again

In the lyrical zone where I park my planet
An old fossil quadrant measures lost time
And I see mutants hanging on the bell
Of what I thought was a familiar home

So under my tattoos with indigo slogans
That give me the look of an old mafia boxer
An old Mickey Cohen recovered from his chaos
I send you my suns of hard-earned necklaces

In the morning the light plays with the stained glass
Where I painted my delusions
With naive accents in a chiaroscuro
Under the brushstrokes and austere faces
That will never return

So in the blind spot of my future seasons
I leave you as I depart my sweetest smile
My most tender tears, and my tender murmurs
Just enough time to learn to go mad again

To go mad again

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