The monkey sat on a pile of stones/ And he stared at the broken bone in his hand/ The strains of a viennese quartet/ Rang out across the land/ And the monkey looked up at the stars/ And he thought to himself/ Memory is a stranger/ History is for fools/ And he cleaned his hands/ In a pool of holy writing....
2 comentarios:
la canción de tu vida, amiga.
me alegra vernos volver al eje lentamente. te quiero!
no serà muuuucho, cementerio de chacarita de attaque habla de lo mismo y tiene mas poesía, :)
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