January 1, 2009


I was a cold breeze in December, blowing
Time flew away like pieces of an old newspaper
Littering the streets, a freezing winter sings
For three hundred and sixty five days escape

An hour to kill, or a decade to sacrifice
It only takes a second to put them in the past
All we are left with is a silly smile we put with pain
Because our flirting with immortality is vain

Let us make a toast for the moments of lies unveiled
Let us make a toast for the friends we depress
Let us make a toast for the will to prosper

Another year goes by, it goes down with wine
And we all know two wrongs don't make one right
For the epoch to come, let us make a toast for our goals

1 comment:

  1. Real poets are born, not made, and you definitely are one of us. Muy adecuado para el año nuevo, me gustó a tal grado que hasta cité algunas lineas en mi nuevo post... siéntete importante jaja se siente bien que citen tu trabajo no? sientete orgulloso mas bien.