Bicicletes [English translation]

On the straight line, bycicles without light

a satellite that starts where I lose my head

A road made of grass,

your lips are made of frozen glass.

I walk barefoot and think of blind images

of the beaches I could only see under my bed.

Leave the words

and hang from a tree

this light opposite to winter.

Just tell me what you're thinking

light against the winter.

A perfect monday, bycicles without hands,

I have a new crossing road, just painted.

Do you want mint ice-cream?

The windows seem made of wet paper.

So much noise that we are lacking air

I lost the compass and the north that I must have kept here somewhere

Leave the words

and hang from a tree

this light opposite to winter.

Just tell me what you're thinking

light against the winter.

• Artist:Blaumut
• Album:El turista (2012)