| Now that I think about it, the truth is, I don't think about you
|
| Come to think of it, don't look for me anymore
|
| Now that I think about it, there is another in my bed who knows what to do with me, she is gone
|
| place for you
|
| The air is heavy, they crush these mami walls
|
| Hot cheeks, I still have the sign of the hands
|
| Love chases hate, so I can't
|
| Part them and I threw my phone at you
|
| And I ask: "Do you love Me or do you not love me"?
|
| No, son of a bitch yells at me the same mouth that kissed me
|
| When tears fall and conflicts drown
|
| And they resurrect if I throw chairs on the ceilings
|
| And you think it's the road that fucks me
|
| When you see the marks of the blows and you sleep alone at night
|
| And you hear them talking about me
|
| Tongues of little girls bragging about me
|
| This is the price I pay, which is why I rarely allow myself
|
| Do they want me or the voice on the radio?
|
| The eye of the storm changes life
|
| This is why I don't trust love and the world agrees with me
|
| Now that I think about it, the truth is, I don't think about you
|
| Come to think of it, don't look for me anymore
|
| Now that I think about it, there is another in my bed who knows what to do with me, she is gone
|
| place for you
|
| Now that I think about it, the truth is, I don't think about you
|
| Come to think of it, don't look for me anymore
|
| Now that I think about it, there is another in my bed who knows what to do with me, she is gone
|
| place for you
|
| I was wondering what you do, how are you, if
|
| You're in it with the guy who's next to you now
|
| To me it's fake like your Chanel bag
|
| And in a world of the blind, the Guercio is the only king
|
| We went from your parents' bed to five stars
|
| People want to be us, mind, they don't mind their own thing
|
| Sweet love on the radio, as much as he loves her
|
| It's all fake and it's clear that the singer is gay
|
| With broken fists and red eyes at the dawn of six
|
| But who are you with?
|
| I'd put out a cigar in your friend's face when she spits that infectious poison
|
| I call you: I touch hatred, it drips from my handset
|
| I remember the clinic and the observing doctor
|
| Your hands on my neck, nails in my flesh
|
| And your mom wants me dead too, bad karma
|
| Psychodrama, don't report me to the weapon
|
| Now that I think about it, the truth is, I don't think about you
|
| Come to think of it, don't look for me anymore
|
| Now that I think about it, there is another in my bed who knows what to do with me, she is gone
|
| place for you |