'once i thought that time was a certain thing, but i was proved wrong, have crossed all the boundaries to live a lifetime in a day, and taste the sun so clearly. but the sun here is not too shiny. maybe i have too look it throught your eyes. is this what they call longing? because this is the first time i'm wishing past. is this what they really call missing? i've shutted the door a million times to open it again, but the place is not the same, even though it says your name so softly. it's like the days are all the same back here, bottles and smoke, life a framed photograph of passed hours: steady lessons that are just forgotten. i look around and the weekend's just some blocks away, feels like months since you've gone. i hope you're still there, standing with a smile, and that it all don't ache so much that you'll leave. hold me tight and tell me you'll stay, and i will paint all the colors in the world to take the grayer of your doubts away for good.'


metrô, hoje.