Pretty girl, she told me. Chameleons faces we have, we have become strangers to self, forgot who we were. Once we were whiskey drinking people, who sang and danced, all night long. Now we are the hang-man joke. Twisted letters once vulgar we spoke, fearless and hard. Now we lay-down and we whisper no mas.
We exile ourselves to the corridor of silence. We have became nameless people in a world of shame. Once we were brave and now we look at the morning sky, asked her, please have mercy upon me, make me believe I am not dead no more. Make me believe I can save myself, save my beloved.
My lover eyes, one fire and brimstone, are empty and quiet. She asked me, can we be saved? I told her, we sold out to the worldly things. We must run away from the shallow rules, leave the big televisions, cell-phones and the locked doors behind in the wake of the sea, the free-forest and the open places.
We are not dead yet and we must ascend to the days of freedom, take apart the fake allusion of happiness and open our eyes, pray to the sea, pray to the sky, roll our fingers in the dirt and become reborn and we must learn, we decide who we become.
The pretty girl smiled, tossed-off her shoes, danced barefoot on the quiet beach and she asked the sea. Have mercy upon me, allow me to find the places I knew. Make me believe I have not forsaken every dream I had.
I went to my girl, who eyes were heavy with sadness and I told her. We are not done yet. The sea of faith, we shall find. Neither high walls or the naysayer will kill our spirit. We will find the path of secret kiss, the deepest sea and the highest mountains and we will scream. We are not done yet.