Otros Ejercicios
Messes Of Men 
Hard
de MewithoutYou
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I do not exist, but faithfully insist
in our separate ships
and from each tiny caravelle
Tiring and there's dying
like the crab in its proper sheds its shell
Such distance from our friends
like a scratch a lens,
made look wrong from anywhere we stood
and our blew away before we'd left the bay,
so half-blind we these songs on sheets of wood
Caught me making eyes at the other boatman's wives,
and heard me laughing louder at the by their daughters
I'd set my course for land,
but you well understand
it takes a steady to navigate waters
The propeller's with the waves
as there's I've made no rowing could outrun
The cloth blowing on the mast to say I've got no past
but I'm the librarian and secretary's son
with tarnish on my and mildew on my glass,
I'd never want someone so crass as to someone me
but a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure
and I assure you, it was not what I expected it to be!
I still taste its kiss, that dull hook in my lip
is a memory as as a rod without a reel
To an anchor ever-dropped, yet docked
spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel,
floating forgetfully along, no need to be strong
We our and when we pray we keep it short
I a thimble full of fire and I'm not ever coming back
Oh, my God!
I do not we faithfully insist
watching sink the heavy ship of everything we knew
If ever you come near I'll up high a mirror
Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as You
in our separate ships
and from each tiny caravelle
Tiring and there's dying
like the crab in its proper sheds its shell
Such distance from our friends
like a scratch a lens,
made look wrong from anywhere we stood
and our blew away before we'd left the bay,
so half-blind we these songs on sheets of wood
Caught me making eyes at the other boatman's wives,
and heard me laughing louder at the by their daughters
I'd set my course for land,
but you well understand
it takes a steady to navigate waters
The propeller's with the waves
as there's I've made no rowing could outrun
The cloth blowing on the mast to say I've got no past
but I'm the librarian and secretary's son
with tarnish on my and mildew on my glass,
I'd never want someone so crass as to someone me
but a few leagues off the shore, I bit a flashing lure
and I assure you, it was not what I expected it to be!
I still taste its kiss, that dull hook in my lip
is a memory as as a rod without a reel
To an anchor ever-dropped, yet docked
spotted napping with his first mate at the wheel,
floating forgetfully along, no need to be strong
We our and when we pray we keep it short
I a thimble full of fire and I'm not ever coming back
Oh, my God!
I do not we faithfully insist
watching sink the heavy ship of everything we knew
If ever you come near I'll up high a mirror
Lord, I could never show you anything as beautiful as You
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