| You told me "paint me" and I painted a moon
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| Last Quarter Moon with Pruning Glove
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| That with the other hand stirs saucepans
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| With the noise of the waves that makes them fall in love
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| And you cried when you saw her: «Imagine that I paint you
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| A radiant sun and I put it in front of you when you're not there»
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| Let them cut my throat if I don't see them fighting
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| Butterflies to your walk
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| If I don't cry a bay when you're crazy I lost
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| of with me limp
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| I asked you not to tie me up and we started
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| With the knots in the hands, the shackles and the muzzle
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| That later, when the day no longer holds
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| With the straitjacket we will dance
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| And stumble between so many feet that she does not know how to lock us
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| She doesn't even know how to take away the keys of the nightfall
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| That bad death comes to me or they slice my tongue
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| If I wanted to love you badly
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| You gave me so much fever, I gave you a dog for a hare
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| And we stay in peace
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| That if the night was getting naked, it wasn't to see me
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| What he wanted is fifty and the bed, with whom? It didn't matter
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| With old trunks that with skulls, that hide their teeth
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| With long fingers no one left to point
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| With stumps that write straight on crooked lines
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| With the oblivion that she always remembers to resurrect
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| With the clocks that do the math for me and they haven't understood
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| That I have not given up, I wanted to fail
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| That blowflies haunt me at the smell of the drawers
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| That once I closed for you
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| If zippers throb to the beat of spring
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| They don't want to open them
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| Let the sun go down in pieces, and with it the drunken god
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| who wanted to make you suffer
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| That he gave you his bad breath that I turned into cement
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| to make you smile |