Los Trastos from Trastos by Luna Sabática

I want to die too poor to go out with my friends
Want to die mooching off my old girlfriends
I want to die alone in a room with my records
Stomach full of taquitos I stole from the corner mart
I want to die without making my mom proud
Would rather spend my days writing under stormy dark rain clouds
I don't need love I just need my celluloid dreams
Light one up and see what the artistic void brings
I want to play for change on the D.C. streets
Want to blow my life savings on antiques
Shop for some fabric at a sick boutique
My family shakes their heads every time I speak
Spend my unemployment on a rare art piece
Have Michelangelo be my last rites priest
Will my art miss me the day that I decease?
Or will it fall victim to the copyright creeps?

I want to die in an artist's loft in Berlin
6am home from the club sweating
I want to die with Banksy's and Van Gogh's
Running through some blocks with swanky graffiti vandals
Burning incense on my tape deck
We depend on artistic grants for our paychecks
Holes in my shoes, going to need to duck tape that
Invite me to a nice dinner?
Going to need a rain check
Crashing on your futon until the day I'm kicked out
Did so many shrooms until I'm wigged out and tricked out
Because I went from rags to riches, to riches to rags
Then back to riches
Then just rags
Sorry . . let me pack my bags

• Latin
• chicane
• lofi
• mixed-race
• sololoquesiento
• vinyl sound
• Billings