mandar o vestido às urtigas.
a história repete-se.
e a mim, só me apetece estar longe
They are everywhere.
In your street
In your telephone list
In your photos, on the living room, on the walls
A parade of the same nose, repeated ad infinitum, different faces, different ages, sexes.
But the nose will denounce you. Always.
It´s just inevitable.
They are here. In you. On you. And you cannot run from them.
Someone will look at you and say “I know that nose”, they may not say it, but they will think or something.
They can´t avoid it.
Neither can you.
That´s just how it works.
Fico a ver-te rodar Paris entre os dedos
“temos que sair daqui”