T-A pain to which I am accustomed-T

It was been frightened when estava only, as someone dying in his own dream, always you will say not me des shit for which shit is what recojes, chained in a deep abyss, inert and squashed.
We all ask ourselves that we did to deserve what we are, but the one who is the one that listens to us, I was the angel that it was born in his entrails, but today am I the demon against which it fights? .Como a scar being opened in winter, the moon taking the control on the Sun, when a child turns into man and a man turns into child.
You shout without nobody listens to you, do what is but nobody looking at this one, you shout fort but nobody listens to you. When my feelings are ready to be in the menu, and I for another side waiting for your return when that you are not going to come, he listens to my prayer and I will spill tears for you, the only drop of blood spilt by my eyes.
When you love what you are afraid and are afraid what you love, an ilución lost in the forest and other forests looking for an ilución. My name written in your interior, your name written in the mio. Your steps marked in the way towards the light mas brilliant. You say to me that my life is a dream, but the pain seems to be royal, when my blood is the ink to correct your mistakes, and my body an object to guard your blows. I have sinned but I do not repent, when I am caught in an obscure quarter looking for a small door to be able to go out. You know that there is someone listening to me inside or out of what estava planned. But you know that it will wait and you were waiting for your me also.