Attaque 77
Miscellaneous
Iron Horse
Buenos Aires wakes up when the sun has not yet risen
and the morning is the executioner of my hours of brilliant passion.
Under the wheels of that beast, the little iron horse died,
it writhed on the asphalt with my heart.
Transiting a paradise of love or a hell of madness,
and I knowing the risks, I insist on playing that you are part of me
No beginner thief took you from my side,
and my princess made me a prince riding with elegant gait,
and from a distance today I feel afraid for what I love like this,
like not getting attached so as not to suffer.

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