bang bang

Viernes por la noche.
Me senté en una mesa cerca a la puerta del bar, pedí una cerveza.
Me siento aturdido. No es el bullicio, es el fastidio; la sensación de que nada satisface, nada me mantiene en un mismo lugar.
Es la soledad que abarca cada vez más, se extiende, se propaga hacia casi todo (y todos) lo que tiene que ver conmigo.
Me miro al espejo y no me reconozco, no sé quién soy. Ni qué quiero, ni a dónde voy.
Te escucho hablar, pero yo, ya no estoy ahí.




Bang bang - The raconteurs

I was five and he was six / We rode on horses made of sticks / He wore black and I wore white / He would always win the fight
Bang bang.
He shot me down, bang bang
I hit the ground , bang bang
That awful sound, bang bang
My baby shot me down.
Seasons came and changed the time / When I grew up, I called him mine / He would always laugh and say / Remember when we used to play bang bang / I shot you down, bang bang / You hit the ground , bang bang
That awful sound, bang bang / I used to shoot you down
Music played and people sang… / Just for me the church bells rang… / Now he's gone I don't know why / And till this day some times I cry / He didn't even say goodbye / He didn't take the time to lie
Bang bang.
My baby shot me down.