Every day I wake up and it's Sunday
Whatever's in my head won't go away
The radio is playing all the usual
What's a Wonderwall anyway?
(...)

Maybe then tomorrow will be Monday

And whatever's in my head should go away
But still the radio keeps playing all the usual 
And what's a Wonderwall anyway? 

Because my inside is outside

My right side's on the left side

Cause I'm writing to reach you now but

I might never reach you

Only want to teach you

About you

But that's not you

And you know it's true

But that won't do

And you know it's you

I'm talking to

Writing to reach you- Travis. No puedo creer que no la hubiera posteado nunca antes.

I'm growing like a seed
rain's been falling on me
I've been covered and cold
I've been shrouded in doubt

My heart is on a wire
sitting pretty like a bird
but the hunter is out
and the eagle has heard the word

That I feel it all

I'm looking to the sky
and I'll be listening to the stars
and maybe thinking of you
and wondering where you are.

Do you know what you've done for me
you've made my branches grow
now they can play with the wind
and they can carry the snow

And they can feel it all

So take what you want
leave what you don't need
and I go looking for you
you keep your eye out of me

'cause our heart is on a wire
sitting pretty like a bird
but the hunter is hunted
and the eagle is us

And we can feel it all.

Feel it all-KT Tunstall.

And I know that everything's right with me,

so come tell me just why it seems

to kill me.

Mother

Selfish Jean

Moving

Love will come through (moviendo los brazos)

Driftwood (a pedido del osito)

Where you stand (una nueva)

Writing to reach you (una vieja)

Side

Closer (había que repetirla porque es especial)

Sing

Turn

Happy Birthday para Dougie y Flowers in the window

Why does it always rain on me? (con pogo, como debía ser).

Los quiero mucho :)

-Bien, bien- dijo Saint-Clare-, lo haré- y sentándose tomó un diario.
-Pero deseo que lo hagáis en seguida.
-¿Y por qué tenéis prisa?
-Porque solo podemos estar seguros de hacer una cosa en el momento actual; tomad, he aquí papel, una pluma y tinta; ahora escribid.
Como la mayor parte de los hombres de su carácter, Saint-Clare detestaba cordialmente el tiempo presente del verbo hacer; así fue que la insistencia de la señorita Ofelia le disgustó considerablemente.

La cabaña del tío Tom-Harriet Beecher Stowe.