| Sometimes the city gets dirty and we don't see clearly
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| But if we look closely there it is
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| It is difficult, because chaos dazzles and the pupil becomes rigid
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| And more than in connecting we lose time in monitoring, life is liquid
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| escape from our hands
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| Between fake faces and efforts that are in vain
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| But I've seen hope rest in calm and fair sentences
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| In etruscan smiles
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| In tumbling eyes but still looking and not scared
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| In patient steps, in jokes, in talks
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| In gestures that do not palpate happiness but know how to imagine it
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| The city crumbles on our weary arms
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| And only those armed with what they have loved endure
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| Those who do not hide, nor blame others for their sins
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| Because the streets expand like our extraordinary loneliness
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| And only hope alleviates so much daily fatigue
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| there rest
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| In bars, where the world is changed in seven gin and tonic drinks
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| In neighborhoods, where the talent you have inside matters more than money
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| In forced labor but they do not submit us
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| In fears uprooted and flushed down the toilet
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| In shackles that break, heads that rise
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| Questions that are answered and in songs that are sung
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| Cornering the corrupt, in scratches to the system
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| In illusions that burn and crash against the tumult
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| I saw her
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| I saw hope asleep in limbos of conformity
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| And suddenly he woke up like on Sunday morning
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| And now I see Viking warriors fighting in seas of pitch
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| Stay afloat when the tide of the city shakes your ideas
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| What happens when you falter? |
| Your head boils and no one sees you
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| When the small change is not enough for the porridge of your double V
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| And you see the pressure tightens, and your life cracks at every crack
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| For so much torture, for lack of adventures
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| For the repetition that rots our freshness
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| And between the excuse and the submissive breeze the calm cannot be seen
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| Between smooth slippery ledges, and lies that are televised
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| But if I know something, it is that the truth is sincere and concise
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| And that there is no more deadly weapon than the smile
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| Hope Rests in Dreams of Tough Graphene
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| In glasses half full, in obscene gestures before ideologies of the Pleistocene
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| I saw her, and I made her reborn in my moments of pleasure
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| With faith, in plans that I traced after a sip of coffee
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| I saw her, when she hugged me and I wanted to freeze time
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| When I reached the light thanks to the knowledge
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| When I cried my misfortune and saw that only I could do something
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| Although the tunnel of sadness became long
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| Only I could do something, paint my black and white
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| And transform it into the color with which I celebrate today
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| The party of my disasters
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| One day hope told me: "There is nothing more useless than regretting"
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| You just have to get up and say enough
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| Have a plan to carry out, paralyze every hurricane that devastates you
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| Bring out the caste in you
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| Although sometimes it is difficult like childhoods in Haiti
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| And if I sold my soul to the devil, it was to feed mine
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| Soothe your cold, and I have suffered the dirty emptiness that prevails on sidewalks
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| And I have understood, that if you stare out there, you will not see borders
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| Just new ways revealing, you'll see lying excuses
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| Thrown in bins, you will see devils with good souls
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| And beasts with a sincere smile, if you look closely you will see that...
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| Hope rests where you least expect it |