When the grain rises in the city, Waves of agitated air, Let the dreams be extinguished, In my reality, I want walks on the strike, A little humanity, Less concrete, more rags, A quality life, Less concrete, more dreams, In my reality. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face. I want blades that don't cut, Less pain in 4 by 3, A simple happiness, but to my taste. It's a bit true, but that's all, I want more wheels in my skull, And less crowd in my dick. These little things that go up in the clear, Two senses that once we lose them, These little things that go up in the clear, Two senses that once we lose them. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face. What is born then? A board of salutes, To ride my wave of soul. A beautiful ocean breaks your light, To dry the salt of my tears. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face. What is born? A board of salutes, Sold by the dark metro, The eyes were riveted, On the shore, Forget your distant face.