The old records taught me to desire
In their ancient, classy grooves,
Such a guide for my moves
I couldn’t avoid being on fire.
Among the cigarettes I shall find,
Hidden between girl’s legs,
The pleasure my youth begs
So milky it blows my mind.
No place is better than another;
The unknown attracts me
More than these bodies I see
Which I can’t feel for no longer.
Despite I have some patience
The ancient tunes have it lost;
Haven’t taught me what they must,
About love and its magnificence.
But through my anguish I realize:
Love might be a kind of silence.