Always days become fucking days
when machine takes you inside
the train of bad thoughts,
madness and interest,
riding you to fields of money,
treating people like circus monkeys.
Trying to change hearts into gold stones,
that shine outside,
Trying to change hearts into gold stones,
that die inside.
But we are here,
dancing on the waves,
looking for a escape out of that stupid name
they puted on us when our minds where pure,
they taught us to look at any body else
like a step in a long stair.

- Volver a las Canciones del Album My Own Garden

- Volver a los Discos de Charlie 3