Psicosis

You are about to hear three different stories
Suddenly it may be your case, or maybe ours

He never thinks about breaking others' hearts
He cares little if they call him psychotic!
And only thinks he must satisfy his need
To hit, to wander, and to drug himself

Someone! Warn him that he's crazy, that his mind is failing
That he looks at people like a demon
He has a dead person living in his heart
When he wakes up, the cousin loses his mind

He sees from a different perspective and is skeptical of the world
When he confused the nocturnal preamble in his story
He laughs, he also hates, in his deserts he dreams of concerts
He loves, and that's true, the awake bipolar
He escapes his crisis and a cigarette is his refuge
His liturgy in what he writes
For his illness roared, and the man lives
He cries, he surfaces, he chokes his ideas, he commits suicide a thousand times
At just 24 years old, he asks for a cessation
Pharmaceuticals formed shapes and drawings on his walls
Fingers as brushes, blood instead of ink
Covering the papers, it's never missing and always painting
How strange this world is, especially for those who look at it
He laughs by chance, and if you hit stones, he throws
His illness devours those hours
And for a while, it's contagious
Violence is unleashed when he hits his wife
Then he laughs and tears marry the ashtray

He never thinks about breaking others' hearts
He cares little if they call him psychotic!
And only thinks he must satisfy his need
To hit, to wander, and to drug himself
Someone! Warn him that he's crazy, that his mind is failing
That he looks at people like a demon
He has a dead person living in his heart
When he wakes up, the cousin loses his mind

The hours pass and cramps appear in that man's body
Due to hunger, he needs cold cuts
Almost daily, he has a fever
Always in his head, he feels October rotting
When he covers himself with newspapers, in the cold city
In the few lucid mornings, in his gray afternoons
In the sad early mornings that you never saw or felt
Because you were never in skins like that
Where you age, where you are not recognized
When it gets dark or dawn
The same thing happens at home in almost every part of the world
That's why we see wandering like embers between squares, vagabonds
Falling deep, through the vice trapeze
Irate poor, life slips away in a fatal second
And death whispers in his ear (mental psychosis!)

He never thinks about breaking others' hearts
He cares little if they call him psychotic!
And only thinks he must satisfy his need
To hit, to wander, and to drug himself
Someone! Warn him that he's crazy, that his mind is failing
That he looks at people like a demon
He has a dead person living in his heart
When he wakes up, the cousin loses his mind

The cousin walks in fear
Looking more behind than ahead
He bumps into people, keeps going and looks like a criminal
He often has to run
He doesn't cross the avenue, as almost no one can see him
If he's not on foot, he's with his bike, they called him psychotic
Because if he gets nervous, he has a crisis!
And he hands out knives just like that
He doesn't discriminate in the neighborhood, he'll sew you up if you're there
There are too many chemicals saturating the boy's ceiling
He patches during the day or night and acts like a tough guy
And in his hardness, he starts singing
That melody he can't stop playing in his head

(Many want to see me six feet under in a cemetery, oh, oh
I have what's necessary, oh, oh
for anyone who wants to surprise me, eh, eh
If he almost never sleeps well!)

He never thinks about breaking others' hearts
He cares little if they call him psychotic!
And only thinks he must satisfy his need
To hit, to wander, and to drug himself
Someone! Warn him that he's crazy, that his mind is failing
That he looks at people like a demon
He has a dead person living in his heart
When he wakes up, the cousin loses his mind