Palabra Metáfora
Rebeca Lane
Metal Word
More than the gift of the word, I have the gift of the metaphor
That's why I portray intangible situations with parables
That are hardly manageable
To very normal rational arguments
More than the gift of the word, I have the gift of the metaphor
That's why I portray irascible sensations with parables
That are hardly digestible
And truths by scarce improbable
Legend has it that a camel crossed
The eye of a needle because it
Didn't pay export tariffs
And in three express it flew to the sky
And few were those who went with him
Because they didn't make it to the station
More than the gift of the word, I have the gift of the metaphor
That's why I portray intangible situations with parables
That are hardly manageable
To very normal rational arguments
More than the gift of the word, I have the gift of the metaphor
That's why I portray irascible sensations with parables
That are hardly digestible
And truths by scarce improbable
Like the time a fish looking into my eyes
Assured me that there were few of his kind left
The sirens laughed because I chased them
Then who would put me to sleep and dream with their song
Who would dare to take me deep
Where I sink my nets to catch omens
To drink the tears of the world
And then vomit them in a nauseating song
Legend has it that a fisherman pulled
A skeleton from the sea and got scared
But upon seeing it, he was moved
And by its side, he closed his eyes
And with his tear, he fed it
He took out its heart and revived it
More than the gift of the word, I have the gift of the metaphor
That's why I portray intangible situations with parables
That are hardly manageable
To very normal rational arguments
More than the gift of the word, I have the gift of the metaphor
That's why I portray irascible sensations with parables
That are hardly digestible
And truths by scarce improbable
Like the witch who hides in her warts
The most secret beauty like a worm in the caterpillar
Like the fruit that hides in its seed
Like the rotten that engenders life
Legend has it that a woman gathered
The bones of a wolf and sang to them
She filled his body with flesh
And towards the moon, he howled
And she ran away with him
Because her wild is her condition
Wild our hearts
