Hasta Volver La Noche

Your eyes that gaze, that feel, that filter my mind.
Your mind that suffocates, transforms, gnaws at my soul.
My soul that escapes, flees through sores and wounds.
Nocturnal lair that one day will not return.

Until it returns
Until the night returns
Until it becomes night again

Your eyes, nocturnal lair, transform into wounds...
Suffocation that filters the sores felt by my mind...
The soul flees and wanders behind the night...
I do not aspire to exile, I do not feel, I never live.

Until it returns
Until the night returns
Until it becomes night again

I search for you in the light and the light returns me to oblivion.
Oblivion that heals my hell without more clarity.
The night that enters silently takes me to your eyes
That tear by tear create my world, my sea.

They are [the strange night of any given Sunday]

Today is Sunday maybe they will return
You must not end the week without remembering
That today is Sunday night
It's them and they don't breathe.

Before my eyes saw the light
They were here in the darkness,
In something very close to chaos,
Far from the world they will have fled
To a place where light never born.

Today is Sunday
There is no glow or path or light
And sometimes
Only sometimes they return...
As I fall defeated by sleep
I am defenseless and hardly
Anyone can hear me
I will not scream, they visit me,
They invade me, they do not ask.

In the unbearable state of half-sleep
They tell me something is happening something is happening
And they vanish
Only in dreams do they cross the thin line
And touch the threads of my soul
And it seems like I lose it
And fear freezes my blood
Freezes my body,
I will not scream I know I can't
My body is inert.

It's them it's Sunday and they are here
There is no glow or path or light
On Sunday night they come
It's the weariness of my mind
That opens the door to their passing
They do not despair
They wait with stubborn patience.

They know my fears
They know them by heart
They delve into the hidden paths
Of the labyrinth of my dreams
And slowly discover
Each of my nightmares
Each of my inner monsters.

They are shapeless
And they do not breathe
In sorrow and sometimes they walk
They seek me and find me
They cover me with their cloak
And the night is sometimes darker
Because on Sunday
Time is lost and they do not care
Because on Sunday it will be an omen
There is no glow or path or light.

It's them... it's them...
Sometimes only sometimes they return.