Letra de Six

A good name pitched into the soil.


Tear the land with the shovel, with the spade, with the towel, with the hand, and cache this crown in a mount of wet winter earth.


A sole display for our troubles endured. Neither stone, nor post, nor flower shall serve or burden the beholder with ornament or reminder.


And the neighbors do protest, "You´ll reap no greater harvest."


But it´s never for the profit of the crop nor the grace of the garden that I this name commit to a Georgia red clay ditch.


To shed all supposition and disappointment I sow these seeds of my desired end.


To be nameless and faceless, oh what a weightless blessing to receive.


We give ourselves the small attempts to share with you our souls, but if she doesn´t trust anybody I hope no one ever trusts her again.


Waiting too long to say what you mean and give looks their intentions.