por. Facundo Ezequiel
A friend told me not to worry.
He gave me this pen and paper.
“Spill your feelings in here”, he told me.
Then I was talkin’ to you on the phone,
Thinkin’ what a waste of time it was,
And started to scribble dumbly.
A head appeared and burped black foam,
I told you something about a dead man I used to know,
Well, he was just a boy when he got killed,
Today he would be a man,
But he’s three feet underground;
You just nodded,
I didn’t heard that through the line,
Maybe I just imagined it,
You kept silent
And the foam became a sheep
And a soft balloon grew from it’s tiny head
And it was counting men:
A sheep also needs to sleep.
Finally you said something
I didn’t quite catched it
But I nodded too.
Then we stood thinkin’ silently,
You puffed smoke from your cigarette
And asked me if I was going to speak anytime soon.
What was it that you were thinking?
I remember my thoughts very well.