DAVID BISBAL DID A CAMEO ON JANE THE VIRGIN. WTF.

The room smells like orgasms and spliffs.
It resembles a brothel, but with a degree on the wall.
Maybe brothels have degrees on walls.
Who am I to judge? Thermometers are everywhere.
Temperature is measured by mercury.
And although i am part of the debauchery,
It's not the right climate to get into this.
The lighting in the room is based on
"What a 15 year old sees drunkenly stumbling
In old san juan. Heels included."
The fan is always on in this room.
Makes great ambiance noise.
The noise also resembles waves
And palms raving in beaches.
Or so the room thinks.
The room is trying to make it happen.
and maybe it has to whore around for a bit.
No room to quit.
The room smells like Orgasms and spliffs.

you're like new york at sunrise

you're like new york at sunrise
subway carts escaping the alcohol stench 
of stragglers left behind,
inside these tunnels the city vibrates. 
a sweet hum only those who are in tune can taste. 
you're like new york at sunrise, 
joggers training for the daily race, 
getting ready to be ahead of the game.  
rise and shine, enjoy the hustle 
of a new dawn that breaks. 
you're like new york at sunrise. 
quiet eruption waiting to happen,
as each second passes, 
more light caresses the empire state.
and the taxi engines begins to take.
i gaze in awe at the tranquility this scene creates. 
you're like new york at sunrise, 
peaceful rumble,
awaiting for instruction from the skyline's colors. 
red. orange. pink. enjoy it, 
a volcano of air pollution is now showing. 
sip some specialty coffee
to shake out the haze.
you're like new york at sunrise.  
a moment of grace before chaos reigns. 
The never ending adventure awaits. 
a sweet view of the statue of liberty's silhouette. 
a peaceful perspective of a not so peaceful place.
you're like new york at sunrise.
I hear the chilly newspaper thud on the stoops
As the tink tink clatter of the morning recyclers
Ravage gentrified trash cans. 
Making it day by day.
You're like new york at sunrise.