2.38 AM









Tengo una cosa, así, en el estómago, que creo que no voy a poder dormir nunca más en la vida. He escuchado esta canción unas tres veces seguidas, y dice algunas cosas que quiero escribir esta noche; pero no dice un montón más que no sé si quiero escribir. Que tampoco sé si se puede, en realidad.





"Let me go back over Oregon,
that little scar is nothing
in the arms of all the things have yet to come.
I’d like to call it no big deal,
but we both know I’d be lying.
I can never come back if I don’t go.

That plan may have been a waste,
but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice.
Sometimes you use a sweet lie to get by.
Though it’s done me well this place,
where there’s a mountain there’s a sky,
there’s too much left between
to ease my mind.

From where we got flowers by the fifth,
where we learned back-handed love,
where if you come off clever enough
you don’t have to cover anything up.
And this city’s done me strange,
though I’m’s courageous as I came.
Well that courage sure is honest
but can feel like such a fickle thing.

Let me go back over Oregon.
That little scar is nothing
in the arms of all the things have yet to come.
I’d like to call it no big deal,
but we both know I’d be lying.
I can never come back if I don’t go.

Now explain to me this affinity for
naming all those settlements for things that crop up colorful
In spite of all the clouds
Like "you know what’s there, but don’t look down",
 "there’s a perfect place that’s not quite now",
and "Jesus has a lot of love
but the good book might not let you out".

Let me go back over Oregon.
That little scar is nothing
in the arms of all the things have yet to come.
I’d like to call it no big deal,
but we both know I’d be lying.
I can never come back if I don’t go.

And that plan may have been a waste,
but we’ll make it up some time
- I’ll find you when we’ve grown apart enough,
Where there’s a candle there’s a light,
a shadow dances right behind,
saying, “Come to me son, let me test your luck.”

From where we got flowers by the fifth,
where we learned back-handed love,
where if you come off clever enough
you don’t have to cover anything up.
And this city’s done me strange
though I’m’s courageous as I came.
Well that courage sure is honest
but can feel like such a fickle thing.

And explain to me this affinity
for naming all those settlements for things that crop up colorful
In spite of all the clouds.
From the Roses City of my birth,
to the golden man stands in a cherry town,
to a road-stop named for mountains and for women
and their family ties
and flowers by the fifth.

 In spite of all the clouds."






He escuchado esta canción unas treinta veces seguidas, 
y habla de Madrid.

Creo que me he hecho mayor. 
O algo parecido a eso.




No voy a volver a escribir poesía.













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