Igual que San Lazaro bendito
diambulas las calles vagabundo
Un trago de vino
Para apaciguar el recuerdo profundo
La memoria opaca
Vas viajando por el mundo
Tembloroso e inaudito
Igual que San Lazaro bendito

Something so small
Yet I feared it for years
Silent fear
Fear of laying there, motionless,
No meaning,  no emotions, no catching up, no "I love you dads"

Got off the car, entered the room in the little motel in Anaheim
My mother's voice
And suddenly, him
After 16 years of silence
He didn't called me son
He called me by my middle name
Me hablaste de usted

a broken river of pus
an exit door
I laid on the bed
Motionless
In tears
And I said that word I only reserved for you "apa".

The girl with the unpronounceable name
the long *** name
the foreign name
the made up name
the name filled with poetry, memories of war, the name that sounds kinda like when somebody runs away, the name that only her mother knows how to pronounce, fully, syllable by syllable as if she was telling a story (she really is telling a story tho.)  Her mother, she calls her spirit back to her body, old/ancient rituals, spells, foreign foresty magic, she calls her name.

the girl with the unpronounceable name
her eyes get lost sometimes
she screams
and kicks
and people say it's because she remembers

so we pray that one day we can learn her name
and help her to forget
the war
the inner wars
the wars within
wars as lengthy as her name
and as painful as her exile.

she's crazy about him
head over heels
but he's clueless
she awaits his eyes
and thinks of the day when he'll hold her in his strong, white, hairy arms
she wants to know how it feels like to be loved by him
she does not mind to wait
as long as it's real

He walks with chains
his brown skin, his tired, old, tired, old, tired, old-tired hands
his heavy *** memories of lost, dead homeboys, his fear of loss, of inadequacy, of a multiple choice exam, it's easier to hold a gun, to act bad ***, than to be called a ***, after all **** are real men, cuz they know how to take it ... but no, he don't like them looking in his eyes as they dive into his flesh, he flies away and just lets his body there, numb, hot, sweaty and convulsing, filled with pleasure but soul-less, spiritless, without identity, it's just flesh and ***, all mixed into one.

love: i split my tongue
language feeds me

desire: i offer my thoughts
imagination heals me

you: i lay in bed naked, next to you
your hands pleasure me

I rest my case
I cannot win
Against your face
your lips...
you're beautiful

Left standing here
I eat my words
Losing my cool
Winning your warmth

Who cares if I look down
if underneath it all
its you.