Chispas de Luna

I'm going up the elevator of your scouring pad
I put aside the look of pain
My phlegm sounds like a tin can in the cowbell
It is the hard middle phlegm of loving

Wind moves the air
Clothes align with the sea
The Grimace That Burns
Clothes align with the sea

Sparks fly when touching the ashtray
Sparks fly and it is my sweet well-being

The message that was sent in the ampoules
That shone like needles in the moonlight
The stars were the eyes of the sky
Comets were crying wishes

Wind moves the air
Clothes align the sea
The Grimace That Burns
Clothes align with the sea