Daymares

Making, making, making, gold bars
Making, making, making, gold bars
Making, making, making, gold bars
Making, making, making, gold bars

In gloomy mists like Piotr Jablonsky
I get up, shower, listen to Roc Marciano Don
Shit
A smear in my throat and
Study my voice, kid

My vocal cords neon spirals my homies know
Smoking smooth chronic
Rocking Tommy comes out
Son of rigor first and then rigor mortis
Falls

When the zombies shrink
The final drinks of a life in serious solitudes

Instead of worrying about your rating, worry about your writing, do the right thing
Feel like a king
I feel like Luther
Future martyr

The richest are the ones who eat for free the most times
Sounding nineties
Like the pea community
Mental state, Victor Frankl
Unplug from that semi-constant hell

Ah, resonant possession
I don't care about your life, tell me what you dreamt

You may keep
Traumatic experiences
The force in the air
Please Enjoy the silence

Hell in my ears
Heavy Trelli trelli
They told me to come and I said too many movies
Stop
I want my son to rap
And sample me
Miracles happen now

Making, making, making, gold bars
Making, making, making, gold bars
Making, making, making, gold bars
Making, making, making, gold bars

I don't have nightmares, I have Daymares
Because at night Manucho doesn't sleep
I invent music or listen to it
It depends
If the internal snake bites
And asks me to release what I harbor in my chest, damn it

I distribute free luxuries, Ronaldinho gaucho
Drunk among boys
In my hands calluses from so much crayon
I write and erase nonsense
I scratch the sheet in the mortuary rituals of my ranches

In the room Gata Cattana was playing
And I was writing poems of Ramayama
Between asanas and pranayamas
My prana in flames
I was in Manhattan
And the spirit of Wallace spoke to me
In a dunkin donuts

Save my life
Without me asking
Trust your energy and what you perceive
I have fun when my life is in danger
Aborting the mission was to fulfill it

Tenderness intimidates me
There's only one cloud in the sky and it covers the Moon
I imagine utopias living my dystopias, the worst torture
And the storms come early
I am

A soldier shot on the field floor
Waiting for some miracle
In this bitter present
Every day with the feeling of having broken something
I miss what I lose