Regular Sunday

What if it is too late?

What if it is all wrong?

What if I wanna go backwards?

What if I don't belong?

And you still feel you have control,

But the truth is that you don't.

You can put your finger in a light bulb,

Touch a gold lamp or throw some coins.

Jump off a plane or dive way deep,

Be always awake or fall asleep.

These stupid dreams came here to haunt me,

Open questions, and got me hungry.

But at the end I'll never have control.

So I'm 27 living quietly,

Not sensational nor too proudly.

I just wish to know things

In the way they used to be.

Who's this guy that they call God?

I'll invite him drinks and kick his ass.

We'd probably end up talking right outside

This insignificant, small, suburb bar.

He'd say to me he fell in love

Of a city girl, a gal I know.

What is this thing that they call love?

He drank the bottle and never told.

And I'm still lost and hungry,

It's like a circle around me.

Nothing changes, nothing will be,

Not even if I change the things within me.

It's like seeing a wide open door,

But you can't cross it through the hall.

They'll stop you and report you "wrong"

Damaged goods, Refurbished sold.

And I still don't get control.

Not even if I change it all,

Not even if I change it all...

Jorge García M.