She sends me postcards from her asylum
Announcing me the news of her last fight
She tells me that the night has made her too fragile
And that she doesn't want to row for other Guernicas anymore
And I read her letters in the evening in the storm
Drinking coffees in gas stations
And I calculate in me the weight of his defeat
And I measure the time which apoplectic us
And I say to myself, Stop
But I pull up my collar, I press the starter
br/>And I go to look elsewhere, even further elsewhere
And I come across old men who stand sentry
And ask me if I don't have any cash for the night
I throw out my blotters and pull the string
To call the madman who invented boredom
And I carry his mask in the bottom of my saddlebags
With the born ©negative of our future photos
I beg for oxygen at the movie theater exits
And I sell compressors to my ladies-bromide
And I say to myself, Stop
br/>But I pull up my collar, I press the starter
And I go look elsewhere, even further elsewhere
It's almost midnight but I look much younger
I pawl and get impatient at the bottom of the starting blocks
I stop to watch my crows who are having lunch
And my flowers who are twisting under the electroshocks
And I imagine the laughter of all our dead cells
When we hit the switch while erasing our years
I kept my turbo for dÃÂ ©break down the doors
But sometimes I only have the violins left to cry with
And I say to myself, Stop
But I pull up my collar, I press the starter
And I I'll look elsewhere, even further elsewhere

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