Baby blue, stay between the lines.
Honey dew, smoke it up at night.
Cheering them up, the arrogant boy.
Jazz's getting lost in that hazy joy.
You give them what they want
and they give you what you need.
It's not about the cash,
but about notoriety.
Still thinking of you,
from time to time;
your violent sight,
your Dadá wine.

I waited all night for a shooting star
to wish upon,
to feel its light.
But the night went by,
too numb to cry.
The stars looked petrified
from all their lies.
The meteors shined
for a way short time,
blinding my sight
with green and white.
At last the only hint of light
that would meet my eye
was the neon light
from a club nearby.