En Francesc

Os explicare la historia dun home lleig i mal parit,
el seu nom era Francesc i va morir de vell.
Va apareixer del no res, de ben lluny
i curiosament dos anavan abans que ell.
Pero per coses de la vida, fixeu-vos que te la vida
tots dos van morir en un accident.
En Francesc era un home lleig
que no saguantava ni els pets.
Va estar donant pel cul quaranta anys
i entre garrot i afusellaments
es dedicava a perforar el cul de l'orellut,
que el dia que va morir va tenir un bon disgust.
Quin mal parit que era en Francesc, lleig com el que mes
brut de collons, literalment.
Aquesta era la vida dun veritable fill de puta, anomenat: Francesc.

Tell me,

Should i keep my words faked this night, (my love)
under the silence of taboos.
Sounds like measuring myself, (i say)
with in the preasure of hurting you.

This night the moon is not still done, (i believe)
my mind lost the way, shes gone.
Maybe today is our last yesterday
what can i say, i supose is the price i have to pay.

Is it painful if you fight against your fears
that makes whats warm into cold tears.
An unexpected combination near
when my large tongue talks to your fine ears.

(letra provisional silence of taboos; se acepta todo tipo de modificaciones, e incluso substituciones si hace falta i no me importa el catalan o el castellano, take it easy, its up to you)

Intervals

Tell me please, why
The interval of nonsense is covered with pride.
Why i thought
that feeling was mine,
if theres no will and it left me die.

I can feel it when she laughs,
far away from where i am.
I can smell it in her nights
when i can't see her.

Oldough she is beside me,
spaces hold me tight
upon a journey of mistery lies,
that i still not understand.

Tears i never spelt,
an interval of nonsense,
which seperates life from what i am,
I melt.