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Along the street death walks... crowned
Crowned with withered orange flowers,
And it sings, sings, a song
With its white guitar.

...And it sings, sings...
Would you mind if I die?

I write about sensations, moods and apparitions,
while people give parties to cover the silence.
There is no sense in feeling remorse for a thing you could not control

...And death sings, sings...
Would you mind if I die?

What did you want when you continued to ask?
My energies must be direct to an act.
I continually research a sure channel to address my emotive contradictions.
I yearn they have a positive origin
Intolerant towards imperfection.
I practise a secret auto-therapy,
I practise... a personal and secret auto-therapy,
Against the shame of publicly showing our own signs.
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!

MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!
MEMENTO AUDERE SEMPER!

Along the street death walks... crowned
Crowned with withered orange flowers,
And it sings, sings, a song
With its white guitar.
And it sings, sings, sings... It sings, sings, it sings...

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