it's hard to keep trying to enter in the cracks of your shell
sometimes it hurts my arms in the way
and my vulnerability is also in question.
i wish your eyes could talk
'cause apparently we can't.
we're talking in different languages
we're feeling different sunsets
smoking different souls
maybe our hearts are too far away
maybe they're closer than we think.
it's sad we can't feel each other's feelings
and the biggest mistake is to fear the unknown
'cause there's no need for it not to be known.
words may damage some things
but the lack of them threatens to turn off the lights 
that used to keep us warm.
and it's not a payback kind of reaction
but i'm turning myself in five trying to keep up
with these new places you put me in.
maybe it's time to think less 
maybe it's time to feel less
'cause this world of intensity i live in 
brings me every single smile i give
and every tear that moisten your pillow
meanwhile, i choose to close my eyes
and dream about the lines of your face.

não são palavras, apenas alguns movimentos

dessas coisas que nos esquecemos facilmente

quando estamos com os pés no chão.

criam-se memórias falsas

discursos nunca ditos

sexos nunca feitos.

mas lembro-me bem quando nos aventuáravamos em passeios de carro

quando eu fuçava em suas coisas no porta-luvas

entre latas e cigarros, papeis e imagens de santos

você ria-se de mim, zombando meus defeitos

enquanto eu te olhava ironicamente, com uma feição boba de reprovação.

na banalidade do que estava extinto,

ou do que era forjado,

mas na dúvida constante

do que é realidade 

do que é fantasia

do que é desejo

do que não vai se realizar.

às vezes as palavras aparecem

mas não devem ser ditas

no jogo que não se pretende jogar

nos sonhos que se jogam fora mas não se vão embora.

talvez apenas descompassados

ou talvez uma pausa na busca constante

um descanso, pras coisas perderem seu peso,

do que se diz tão vulgarmente como sonho distante

mas que é tão visceral

e necessário nessa cabeça velha.

a questão é que não existem finais felizes

porque os finais nunca se acabam

nunca se esgotam

e nem sempre são felizes mesmo.

This man is begging for money, but it's not money that he is begging for. People might think he is asking for love, but he is not. He's lost his faith, his hopes. His dreams died long ago. Now he should've been mourning, mourning those plans that are never going to be accomplished. 'Cause time passes by, and sometimes he just have to realize that is too late for what he once desired. He will stop scrounging things - or at least that is his wish. But I'm not going to make up an happy ending, I'm not gonna end it up with a powerfull and positive advice, a self-helping speech that is supposed to make things lighter or easier. That's just a story of a sad day of a sad man's life. It's just an afternoon of thinking and rethinking his expectations, what reality can really offer him, what can really come up someday. Even though someday is far too long. Waiting and wanting should take place of old thoughts, distant facts. It's not a sit-and-wait situation, but sometimes only time can do what he couldn't - what he can't. God bless.

there's some things i can't get out of my chest
my thoughts can't function properly
and my neurotic way to see things
is trying to line them up 
although they're still all mixed up
in some troubled randomic ranges.
trying to put words in your eyes
is never going to do me any favor
is never going to enable feel things as they ought to be felt
but i just can't believe in everything i see
'cause they're just made up stories of my mind.
i wrestle against myself
trying to control my words
the way my arms move
the way things get to me
but i let it all spill out.

this faucet is dripping.
and i'm about to drown.