Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Ballad of Mona Lisa.

She paints her fingers with the cold presition
He starts to notice empty bottles of gin.
And takes a moment to assess the sin she’s paid for...
A lonely speaker in a conversation
Her words are swimming through his ears again.
There's nothing wrong with just a taste of what you paid for.

Say what you mean, tell me I'm right and let the sun rain down on me. Give me a sign, I wanna believe.

Whoa Mona Lisa you're garanteed to run this town.
Whoa Mona Lisa, I'd pay to see you frown.

He sense something call it desperation, another dollar another day. And if she has the proper words to say she’d tell, but she’d have nothing left to sell him...

No comments:

Post a Comment

Vivir no es sólo existir,
sino existir y crear,
saber gozar y sufrir
y no dormir sin soñar.
Descansar, es empezar a morir.