Every Spaniard is a star Every Spaniard is a starfor estar is just to beWhy shouldn't words exhault the onethat sings it's pedigreeAs children love their motherFor her cultivating hipsWords are born and take a life Sent forth from parted lipsSo reverance for their makerWords should aim to speakFor children shame their parents mostWhen speaking tongue in cheek
astray falsehoodsleave me wrappedin my foundling shroud, waitingsightlessself-borntossed along the wanderingshoreline likedriftwood.
Theatre The dusty seats sighlight dimsflickersa fluttering canvasan easelan expansean escapeits time for the heroes andthe bad guystheir power gained and lostby a simpleProjectionIts gloryrestored for a moment when its story is at its most captivatinglike a positive caught the lightpatheticwhy is respect earned when no one is watching?The film is a distractionfrom a fallen heroa forgotten timeanyway its just you in the theatrewho cares
Icarus Underground "Heard 'bout that Flemish bloke y'know, that painter."He shifts, uneasy, in his flame-rent sores."This ain't easy, pal, this ain't. It's like chores Ah'm tryin' t'speech a speech y'can get. Ain't terSay your a no brainer or anythin',Just " His voice blazes in falling silence.The painter had that right, at least: distance."Now ah want to get this all straight, cousin:This ain't a confession Look me'n the face What with the kings, orders, the same old placeOver and over Even my old man!So then I flew and fell over the edge.I'll say it, I will: I'd do it again.Burnin' one's brain's a fuc