Let me go..

Let me go..

Aldana (H)

Oh, oh, oh...

La guía del mutuo perdón
Rodeado de las mismas cosas
La lista en tu llanto
no limpia la decencia rota

No la limpió, no no no
No se limpió, no no no

Calcina la miseria si
despierta entonces la decencia
La guerra de los santos es
que nadie camine descalzo

La religión de varias gente
Las almas que se mueren solas
porque la indiferencia es muerte
Reclamo de todas las masas

Debe cambiar, debe cambiar

La diferencia está en la bondad
Dale alegría y fuerza a los demás

Por que la fuerza está en la verdad.

Oh, oh, oh...

Y a esta, sí le pongo brokeeninside porque esta no me la robas (:

lalala (8)

.forcing me to fall

I'm not part of your elite
I'm just alright
Class structure waving colors
Bleeding from my throat
Not subserviant to you I'm just alright
Down classed by the powers that be
Give me loss of hope
Cast out... Buried in a hole
Struck down... forcing me to fall
Destroyed... giving up the fight
I know I'm not alright
What's my price and will you pay it if it's alright?
Take it from my dignity
waste it until it's dead
Throw me back into the gutter
'Cause it's alright
Find another pleasure fucker Drag them down to hell

St. Jimmy's comin' down across the alleyway
Up on the boulevard like a zip gun on parade
Light of a silhouette
He's insubordinate
Coming at you on the count of 1,2,1,2,3,4!

My name is Jimmy and you better not wear it out
Suicide commando that your momma talked about
King of the forty theives
And I'm here to represent
That needle in the vein of the establishment

I'm the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal

Cigarettes and ramen and a little bag of dope
I am the son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe
Raised in the city under a halo of lights
The product of war and fear that we've been victimized

I'm the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal

ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?

I'll give you something to cry about.

ST. JIMMY!

My name is St. Jimmy I'm a son of a gun
I'm the one that's from the way outside
I'm a teenage assassin executing some fun
In the cult of the life of crime.

I really hate to say it but I told you so
So shut your mouth before I shoot you down old boy
Welcome to the club and give me some blood
And the resident leader at the lost and found

It's comedy and tragedy
It's St. Jimmy
And that's my nameeeeeee...and don't wear it out!

JESUS OF SUBURBIA

I. JESUS OF SUBURBIA
I'm the son of rage and love,
The Jesus of suburbia,
From the bible of "none of the above",
On a steady diet of soda pop and ritalin,
No one ever died for my sins in hell,
As far as I can tell,
At least the ones I got away with

But there's nothing wrong with me,
This is how I'm supposed to be,
In a land of make believe, That don't believe in me
Get my television fix,
Sitting on my crucifix,
The living room in my private womb,
While the Mom's and Brad's are away,
To fall in love and fall in debt,
To alcohol and cigarettes and Mary Jane, To keep me insane and doing someone else's cocaine


II. CITY OF THE DAMNED
At the center of the earth,
In the parking lot,
Of the 7-11 where I was taught,
The motto was just a lie

It says: home is where your heart is, But what a shame, 'Cause everyone's heart, Doesn't beat the same, We're beating out of time

City of the dead, At the end of another lost highway, Signs misleading to nowhere, City of the damned, Lost children with dirty faces today, No one really seems to care

I read the graffiti,
In the bathroom stall,
Like the holy scriptures in a shopping mall,
And so it seemed to confess,
It didn't say much,
But it only confirmed that,
The center of the earth, Is the end of the world
And I could really care less

III. I DON'T CARE
I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't care I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't care I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't care I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't, I don't care if you don't care

Everyone Is So Full Of Shit! Born and raised by hypocrites, Hearts recycled but never saved, From the cradle to the grave, We are the kids of war and peace, From Anaheim to the middle east, We are the stories and disciples of, The Jesus Of Suburbia Land of make believe, And it don't believe in me, Land of make believe, And I don't believe, And I don't care!

IV. DEARLY BELOVED

Dearly beloved, are you listening?
I can't remember a word that you were saying,
Are we demented? Or am I disturbed?
The space that's in between insane and insecure

Oh therapy can you please fill the void?
Am I Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed?
Nobody's perfect and I stand accused, For the lack of a better word, and that's my best excuse


V. TALES FROM ANOTHER BROKEN HOME
To live and not to breathe,
Is to die in tragedy,
To run, to run away,
To find what you believe, And I leave behind, This hurricane of fucking lies, I lost my faith to this, This town that don't exist
So I run, I run away To the light of masochists, And I leave behind, This hurricane of fucking lies, And I walked this line, A million and one fucking times, But not this time

I don't feel any shame, I won't apologize When there ain't nowhere you can go, Running away from pain, When you've been victimized, Tales from another broken home

You're leaving... You're leaving... You're leaving... Ah you're leaving home...

LOS AMO

Feliz día má!

Feliz día Ollie, y Addie (L)

LOS AMO

so tired, tireed of waiting, tired of waiting for you (8)

Help me inhale

Y llorar hasta el desmayo o el interminable dolor de cabeza que parece encarnársele a uno en lo más profundo de los sesos. Tener tanto odio por uno mismo, tanto que hasta nos parecen irreales e inentendibles todos aquellos años de convivencia con nuestras mentes perturbadas, tantos años de soportarse a uno mismo. Y luego llegan los reproches: ¿por qué no me di cuenta antes de que me odio? ¿Por qué no me eliminé tiempo atrás?
Lo pensás varias veces, intentas encontrar algo por qué vivir, por qué quedarse: las razones son tan frágiles como la convertibilidad y sos menos convincente que Fidel Castro izando la bandera de los Estados Unidos. Querés morirte y tenés millones de razones por las cuales hacerlo. Y sin embargo, todavía rogas por una sola razón para quedarte. Una razón te salvaría, solo una sería suficiente. Y no la encontras, no porque no sepas buscar, sino porque simplemente no hay. No existe la razón por la cual debieras quedarte en este mundo.
¿Por tu familia? ¿Quedarte por tu familia? ¿Que los suicidas somos egoístas? Es la gansada con menos sustento que escuché en toda mi vida. Empecemos a sacar un poco de lógica de todo esto:
Uno no quiere vivir porque sufre, porque está triste. Entonces algún ser muy inteligente (seguramente amigo o familiar) te dirá que todo el mundo te quiere, que todos te aprecian, que no podes HACERLE ESO A TU FAMILIA.
Muy bien, recapitulemos: entonces uno tiene que vivir en pena porque no se le puede hacer “eso” a la familia. ¿Eso? ¿HACER QUÉ?, me sigo preguntando yo, a través de los años. ¿Hacer qué mierda? Si uno está enfermo debería elegir cómo y cuándo curarse. Supongo que las personas con cáncer serían más felices si pudieran extirparse la enfermedad. Pues bien, mi enfermedad es estar viva. Y codificando y pasando en claro no me están dejando sacarme el cáncer de encima. Quieren que tenga cáncer, porque no puedo hacerLES eso. ¿Eso? ¿No puedo qué cosa? ¿No puedo extirpar mi dolor? ¿Debo vivir muriendo para que OTROS no sufran? ¿Tengo cara de Jesucristo? ¿Tengo cara de tener ganas de aguantar mi pena para que otros no lloren cinco minutos o cinco meses mi muerte y después continúen con sus vidas?. Entonces llámenme egoísta, pero no pienso soportar este dolor.

Kurt

Kurt, Frances *.*

Courtney sos una hija de puta (:
Ok, yo me entiendo. (?

Kurt sos taan lindo *.* y Frances en la foto saaaale taaaaaan TAAN hermosa, como vos *.* Los amo a ustedes dos (L)