Tararalala

"It makes it want to return the words. Bizarre situations, bizarre memories and stranger songs that just remember its "tararalala" but not a real lyric, only the melodies fading into the mind. Saturday morning, sun outside and a lot of unanswered question. Tararalala, tararalala and any interruption of the ideas, silence and in this moment, I remember the things that I love. I love the laughter of women, the light escaping from his face... is at this point that I realize how it eliminates the superfluous easy as the transcendental. Then, it seek the activity in the city, looking superfluity far from reality, finding superficiality in the shopping rooms of the city.

Saturday days are not really exciting in cities like this. Streets not more, almost under the sun. At night, each one write their personal history, depending of its grade of imagination and resources. Superfluous stories drowned in rain or alcohol.  However, there are the other people not classified in the rest, people who just watch and read the faces of that superfluous journey, or those fleeing the city, a city like this, soulless.

The smile of a woman. I don't understand why some people prefer their tears and crying. Sadness remove light, tears are not sweet and the voice is flooded. A transcendental thing during the trip of the sun over the heads, a question disguised of triviality. The words were not returned. There is only the silence of noon. I reach decrypt the song for a second... after is only tararalala, tararalala."