It's the story of a quarrel, I attack, you attack, with a gray sky that at times seems to me. I always understand what you think, even if you pretend to laugh, I can read your thoughts, but I can't write them. There is nothing so true as you are not sincere, our life is drug *** and we drink at seven in the evening. Your beauty is also a bit manly, but don't put your head here, right in the center of my chest, there is a fresh scar. And maybe I really don't know, because every night I write to you at three, just like that, to wake you up, when in the evening I come home late, and there is not even the light of a taxi. And I would like to come and look for you, but I don't know where to find you, because sometimes it happens like this. You can't, you can't repair, it's the desire that drives me crazy about you, you can't, you can't, you can't get over it, like a world record. I turn up the volume and we get lost in a common place, we are authors of an infinite story that no one summarizes, and when I fall I get up again, I touch the ground and then I bounce again, even if you draw my shape with the white chalk on the asphalt, I no longer deceive the wait, but I know how to wait for the deception, and if we take four steps, I at least take a false step. It's 2.59 and I'm still awake, maybe we broke up to fit in better. And maybe I really don't know, because every night I write to you at three, just like that, to wake you up, when in the evening I come home late, and there is not even the light of a taxi, and I would like to come and look for you, but I don't know where to find you, because sometimes it happens like this. You can't, you can't repair, it's the desire that drives me crazy about you, you can't, you can't get over it, like a world record. Like a world record. Because sometimes it happens like this. You can't, you can't repair, it's the desire that drives me crazy about you, you can't, you can't get over it.