And it came to me then that every plan Is a tiny prayer to father time. As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409 and I rationed my breaths as I said to myself that I’ve already taken too much today. As each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me, away from me.

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines, in a place where we only say goodbye, it stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds and I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all. And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself.

‘Cause there’s no comfort in the waiting room, just nervous pacers bracing for bad news. And then the nurse comes ‘round and everyone lift their heads but I’m thinking of what Sarah said:
that love is watching someone die.

So who’s gonna watch you die? So who's gonna watch you die?

Death cab for cutie, Plans.

Etiquetas: la música me mata

Bien, como veo que otros no lo han hecho, voy a atreverme yo a postear esta asquerosa e insultantemente bella y peligrosa canción. Damien, esta es la tercera vez que te advierto que te van a meter en la cárcel por incitar al suicidio. Precedentes: The Blower's daughter y Cold water.

Pero esta las supera.


Well I held you like a lover
Happy hands and your elbow in the appropriate place

And we ignored our others, happy plans
For that delicate look upon your face

Our bodies moved and hardened
Hurting parts of your garden
With no room for a pardon
In a place where no one knows what we have done

Do you come
Together ever with him?
And is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
And do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?
What about me?

Well you held me like a lover
Sweaty hands
And my foot in the appropriate place

And we use cushions to cover
Happy glands
In the mild issue of our disgrace

Our minds pressed and guarded
While our flesh disregarded
The lack of space for the light-hearted
In the boom that beats our drum

Well I know I make you cry
And I know sometimes you wanna die
But do you really feel alive without me?
If so, be free
If not, leave him for me
Before one of us has accidental babies
For we are in love

Do you come
Together ever with him?
Is he dark enough?
Enough to see your light?
Do you brush your teeth before you kiss?
Do you miss my smell?
And is he bold enough to take you on?
Do you feel like you belong?
And does he drive you wild?
Or just mildly free?

What about me?
What about me?


AUDIO: Accidental babies, de Damien Rice. Se recomienda no escucharla cuando se esté mínimamente bajo de moral.

Etiquetas: la música me mata