The distance and its scissors
Cut the cord
And cut it into little pieces
Our generation
One more day, one day
Less for the pile
And my calendar
In a game of ping pong
And the taxi, the rush
The hotel, the smog
Love in the times
Of the computer
What I'm going to do it
We are a piece of paper flying
It never stops
We are that blank letter
That has no return address
My bones creak
Thinking about plane
Let that whale swallow me
With wings and an engine
X-rays to the soul
What do I want to know
If you dream about bombs
Al dawn
And the taxi, the rush
The hotel, the smog
The sign that will say
Your call in the elevator
What am I going to do? br/>We are a piece of paper flying
It never stops
We are that blank letter
That has no return address
We are a piece of paper flying
It never stops
We are that blank letter
That has no sender