No son los años, es el kilometraje.
There is no pain, you are receding A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon You are only coming through in waves Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re sayin’ When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse Out of the corner of my eye I turned to look, but it was gone I cannot put my finger on it now The child is grown, the dream is gone I have become comfortably numb
Hello there! This is the personal blog of Rodrigo Iloro (a.k.a. obi, obi-wan, old ben). Feel free to take a look arround.
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