Another week has passed,
no option for the future.
Au, u u, au u u, pressure, pressure, kilos lost.
The noodle soup is boiling.
At this point, with minimal ingredients I can make a lot,
so we can keep on looking, hopping for a fucking job.
No strength to dance, no smiles this weekend.
Soft music, whispered songs,
the best hugs, affection.
-It will be fine,
Diego smells like peaches.
It will be fine –