Shouts In the hands I do not hide nothing My pockets are empty Myimpulses are controlled But my habits are obsessive the handsthat touch me are frozen the colloquies that I have I amdecoration I seem that he does not have alternative In this lifeof dead-end Seems that does not have Necessary alternative of aform more active D and the days pass F#m and us so we areaccustomed D and in thus seeing F#m to them the one That alreadyin does not interest them (A-C#m-F#m-E) Has years imprisoned inthis labyrinth I only counts on my instincts If I not to thinkabout accomodating me Perhaps obtain to saciar me Thereforealready I cried out to skies and already I whispered the sea Ionly go to put down mine weapons