só pra lembrar

With a pen in one hand taking us and drugged on kerosene, '84 and 5 would find us something to believe. Right or wrong with dirty hands on wires, singing songs in dischord choirs, screaming in braille no temptress prize. Could ever yield anything so real... Golden soldiers born much older than they'll ever live to be, diving into a sea of hands in a long forgotten city. Here the rain falls ever after, the swinging vines hang dead in rafters. Blood rush to your head induces laughter endlessly.
Can't explain that it was somethin' to see, can't contain so somethin' ever real. Ever real.
The original fire has died and gone, but the riot inside moves on.