Lyrics of 'Minutos' by Rodrigo Homer

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Eles estão comprando os seus minutos,
e quando isso acontece
alguma coisa está errada e ninguém ousa dizer.

Fila pro abismo...
estão brigando pela senha,
A chuva molha...
não quero estar sempre seco,
um homem-bomba ...
mil pedaços de si mesmo,
E quem trabalha tem direito apenas de sonhar.

Os dados estão viciados,
baralhos marcados,
jornais de amanhã me esperam,
parados, dobrados e inúteis.

No esconderijo sempre esperam por socorro,
e homens tolos desperdiçam o nosso tempo,
fazem um jogo quem é certo está errado
Mas tudo bem se for sempre a mesma coisa.

Mas a coisa toda tá errada
na velocidade de um trem descarrilhado,
parem todas essas máquinas!

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Otras canciones de Rodrigo Homer

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