She is called Macarena,
and she has a sentence to fulfill,
She cuts her hair and she is sad,
time is running out,
In reality she was the godmother,
and she has another garden,
She confused nine moons and the child did not see her coming,
She escapes and she is sad,
they can no longer live together,
The child fulfilled his sentence,
a letter he learned to write,
In the classroom,
the columns are diagonal,
They were in defense of a star and a love of hormone,
Like an intense sandstorm,
the insensitivity over the sea,
It was not by ego or by the mind,
I respected even Balthazar,
I left the game,
I was born again,
I accepted the fire and I knew how to love,
It has no rules,
it is a blind use,
the more you see,
the more you want to give,
There are pictures with Melena,
they want gold and elixir,
The young crepuscular who later learned to die,
The metaphor that Macarena carries here to live,
It is the time that we have left to learn to exist,
The autumn that judges us,
will not be able to love again,
It is the wind in the tide,
now I am Peter Mac,
The hair that you are the ischemia for its envy and anxiety,
You do not confuse innocence with false freedom,
Like an intense sandstorm,
the insensitivity over the sea It,
was not by ego or by the mind,
I respected even Balthazar,
I left the game,
I was born again,
I accepted the fire and I knew how to love,
It has no rules,
it is a blind use,
the more you see,
the more you want to give,
There are pictures with Melena,
they want gold and elixir