Turntable Tale
Killing my neighborhood this night
We care about each other's hands
We know all the secrets, we know the paths
And the turntable knows the way of the sigh.
Each time we scratch with our arms
With subtle needles in the tongues
We differ from digital loves
Making screeches to come out from our lungs.
The speakers don't let me shout;
In the middle of the fog
The lights are spitting loud
A bassline in old vinyl's sound.
Lines, lines and rhymes
Are in the echo spiral of the time;
I am unbound to these
Since I know by heart how you groove and chime.
I know your sides, both of them.
The way the dust covers you
And how to clear my way out
By just adjusting the pitch in your waist.
It's not an easy timing now
For a synchronised loving
This hapless tunes are ending,
Let us appreciate your other side. . .
1 comment:
Poeta patrocinado por PlantaRodadora Records
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