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a DOCTOR RESACA production
POST-ITIVE MESSAGE
I've decided to leave you a path of Post-It
to tell you that routine kills love.
And so I'm writing poems for the beloved woman.
Cause I know that I'm no longer that guy who enjoyed hurting you with just anyone,
Sleeping with a lot of girls,
getting drunk and throwing up
and having headaches.
Because now my plans is to sit down with you
and listen to all those songs that make me rediscover good music.
I can't stand my old rock albums.
And for me to enjoy
I have downloaded Luis Miguel's discography
I've bought an iPod and earphones.
And for you no to miss a single song
I'm shoving it all in.
You'll see what a surprise
I imagine you bouncing that pretty *** I love so much,
and to make her scream
that girl next door, that has that insane envy that hits with the broom when you make some noise.
Because there is not such an idiot girl miles around
And you deserve the best of my life with you.
And I think that I have wasted these Post-It that express what I've been meaning to tell you long ago.
I can imagine your face reading this.
I can imagine your face reading this.
These Post-It that express what I've been meaning to tell you long ago.
That I have wasted the best of my life with you.
And I think there is not such an idiot girl miles around.
And you deserve hits with the broom when you make some noise.
Because that insane envy that girl next door.
That has that pretty *** I love so much.
And to make her scream,
you'll see what a surprise, I imagine you bouncing.
I'm shoving it all in.
For you no to miss a single song I've bought an iPod and earphones
And I have dowloaded Luis Miguel's discography
For me to enjoy
my old rock albums,
and rediscover good music.
I can't stand to sit down with you and listen to all those songs that make me throwing up
and having headaches.
Because now my plan is sleeping with a lot of girls,
getting drunk,
and hurting you with just anyone.
I'm no longer that guy who enjoyed poems for the beloved woman.
Cause I know that routine kills love.
And so I'm writing a path of Post-Its
to tell you
that I've decided
to leave you.
Son of a ***!