Azulejo

And it all started popping bronze pills
And making heroes in El Traful
You cast a shadow on the bidet and draw the line in the middle
You want to kill yourself but it’s getting late

Come on, tile
It’s getting late
You box in front of the mirror but without any grease
And between rounds, you work on your nose
You use the rage of foam under the warm shower
And the poor duck suffers your fucking loneliness

Come on, tile
It’s getting late
Come on, tile
It’s getting late