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Now that you are not here, I write "Home" without an "H"
and the word "Love" I changed to "Pain".
My present is so poor that it goes into debt by dreaming
and it is The past is so rich that I still remember.
Now that you are gone, I am abandoned
like a bottle of suntan lotion in an Eskimo's house.
My horoscope says: "They are astral problems..."
and I have reached the point of envying animals.
And our room is a storehouse of memories,
and our table is an airport of flies,
and our bed is an immense desert,
br/>with the life and energy of a dead person.
What am I going to do with myself...
How difficult it is to love the ogre of my own story,
how to accept that I am like a dolphin lying in a desert.
What am I going to do with myself...
If the idiot in the mirror is usually my only friend,
if I have confused the pillow more than a thousand times with you.
What am I going to do with myself, now that you are not there...
Now that you are not there, silence is a noise
that hurts my ears tremendously.
If I turn on the radio I will remember you again,
and if I turn it off I don't want to forget you.
And our room is a storehouse of memories,
and our table is an airport of flies,
and our bed is an immense desert,
with the life and energy of a dead person.
What am I going to do with myself...
How difficult it is to love the ogre of my own story,
how to accept that I am like a dolphin lying in a desert.
What am I going to do with myself...
If the idiot in the mirror is usually my only friend,
if I have confused the pillow more than a thousand times with you... .
What am I going to do with myself...