Chispas de Luna

I'm going up the elevator of your scrub
Leaving behind the look of pain
My phlegm sounds like tin in the cowbell
It's the half-hard phlegm of loving
Wind moves the air
Clothes line up the sea
The grimace that burns
Clothes line up the sea
Sparks fly when touching the ashtray
Sparks fly and it's my sweet well-being
The message I sent in the blisters
That shone like needles in the moon
The stars were the eyes of the sky
The comets were tears of desires
Wind moves the air
Clothes line up the sea
The grimace that burns
Clothes line up the sea.