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White hot homeless men with crossed fingers in the lost barrios of Barcelona make chills in the shadows and In the red air with the salty blows of sea chant I kiss your wet forehead Well-liquored in broken languages Giants all of us Dancing in the wasted ashes of whatever rosy bars This must be where the homesick find warm corners and Sleep. This must be where sad lovers touch hands and sing each others names inside the skylines of stone angels This is where your vanishing heart fell on the floor and you blushing had to watch me hold it This must be where I die in the slowly somedays Something will change or I’ll sell my blue veins and last teeth for a castle carved in the hills and let your cool snake tongue slip in my American ****** mouth Then All the slow tortured deaths in the world will seem like tickle fights between dumb children Take me through the streets poor streets Spanish angel I taste history in your wine breath I promise in blood never to promise again if we bury each other in the used sand and never set foot in the cities again This will be where I die feeling the heavy of your eyes burning my chest the same someday slowly. Then all the slow tortured deaths of the world will seem like a lost lustful trick played on strange strangers. Fill me up with hot air and hope for Fill me up with hot air and hope to god I don't fall
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Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
Cross My Heart And Something Else
White hot homeless men with crossed fingers in the lost barrios of Barcelona make chills in the shadows and In the red air with the salty blows of sea chant I kiss your wet forehead Well-liquored in broken languages Giants all of us Dancing in the wasted ashes of whatever rosy bars This must be where the homesick find warm corners and Sleep. This must be where sad lovers touch hands and sing each others names inside the skylines of stone angels This is where your vanishing heart fell on the floor and you blushing had to watch me hold it This must be where I die in the slowly somedays Something will change or I’ll sell my blue veins and last teeth for a castle carved in the hills and let your cool snake tongue slip in my American ****** mouth Then All the slow tortured deaths in the world will seem like tickle fights between dumb children Take me through the streets poor streets Spanish angel I taste history in your wine breath I promise in blood never to promise again if we bury each other in the used sand and never set foot in the cities again This will be where I die feeling the heavy of your eyes burning my chest the same someday slowly. Then all the slow tortured deaths of the world will seem like a lost lustful trick played on strange strangers. Fill me up with hot air and hope for Fill me up with hot air and hope to god I don't fall
freds-not-dead
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Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
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