My eye focus on machine made white stripes.
My eye focus on hand made white paints.
Sand scatters over cracks and fissures.
Kelp floats over buried sea shells and urchins.
That modest limestone pavement
was a sudden reminder of a divine painting.
I’ve just seen sea shells slowly turning into limestone.
How Barceló changes my view on sea shells!
Being just a modest tourist in Venice,
I’ve just seen divine sea shells,
lying naked,
on a wet bed sandy shore.
Being in Madrid.
Saluting the crowd like a Wall Street Charlie.
Oh, my Dear Gran Vía!
Enjoying life like a Fuencarral funky.
Cruising Madrid by walk.
Meeting you on El Sol.
Yeah, we were going toward uncertainty,
I felt like a mud beneath a tree
in certain times.
That newspaper-coffee smell of your lips,
I crushed the sycamore tree crust,
searching for gold and tobacco,
crushing my heart.
I gave you a meditative rose my Love.
I made it from a paper,
Not of any kind.
Oh, my Dear Gran Vía!
I knew that soon as you start to believe
it'll be turned to dust!
