My hope has been murdered
among roses thorns, tears and ties on the floor
with tequila taste;
in heaven it rests with angels,
common people and saints,
they say God is with them
but tonight I lost the hope (and many others things I wish not ).
Lights shine for you sweetheart and
I’m bleeding my soul against the sadness
of watching you walking away
into the darkness of the cold Street, coldest without you.
The moon cries with me, but
she’s so hypocrite that her tears
become beutiful starts which remind me your absence.
She’s so fake tonigh that
she’s a crescent moon to look like
your smile without success,
nothing in the universe seems to you.
Tonight I leave my taboos on the table,
You running away,
Tequila in my lips and
A lonely hand yet.