Idols of the trivial music
Of the distorted guitars
And of the synthetic beat

Lay, in the vile poetry
In the maculate letters
In the bridge among being and the anything
Of the grinned legs

Solutions of surpassed chemistries
A technology music
In guitar figures

They are full of it horns
Doesn't tan beach mice
Only find in the afternoon in the club of the you have sex

They are of ordinary caliber
Libertines boys
That only want to live

They don't call the study
They pitch in the wall
What thinks of the world

And in the more sketches in the notebook
A modern apparel
Of universal musicality

Without keys or document
They always walk obstacle to the wind
And they sleep one in a shoulder of the other
A fraternal compasses that they only know how to understand

In the frequency of mosquitos humming
Of stars falling
In the dark sky of that station

They walk, always with faded jeans
A guitar on the side
In the music of your hearts