Huelan las rosas.

Sometimes i wish people would wake up and Smell The Roses
Somebody once said "those who feel it know it"
Somehow on this new world order something old is lost
But at what cost, at what cost?
I wish people would wake up and Smell The Roses
Somebody once said "Those who feel it, they know it"
"Those who feel it, they know it"
Somehow on this new world order something old is lost
But at what cost, at what cost?
The people, they don't know
They don't know who they are
I don't understand it
The people, they don't know who they are
And I don't understand it
As I stand accused, who cares if Jesus was black or white?
Or if the world was created in seven days or seven nights?
I don't give a red, white or blue freak, do you?
Who cares if the melanine of the first person to fall down in front of the first brick
that was thrown to fulfill the American cream-dream was dark in hue, or hueless?
I don't give a red, white or blue freak, do you?
It doesn't pay the taxes or the rent, doesn't make up for time spent
Doing life, bowing and scraping to live in a box, to live in this land, I don't understand
I don't understand it And I, I can't understand it.
The people they don't know who they are
I don't understand it
The people they don't know who they are
And I don't, I don't understand it
I wish people would wake up and Smell The Roses
I wish people would wake up and Smell The Roses
Somebody once said "Those who feel it, know it"
Somebody once said "Those who feel it, know it"
Somebody once said "Those who feel it, know it"
People they don't know who they are
And I can't understand it
They don't who they are, they don't who they are, they don't who they are
And I can't understand it.

A veces deseo que la gente oliese las rosas al despertar.
Alguien alguna vez dijo "Quienes lo sienten, lo saben."
De alguna manera en este nuevo mundo algo se perdió.
Y a expensas de qué? A expensas de qué?
Desearía que la gente oliese las rosas al despertar.
Alguien alguna vez dijo "Quienes lo sienten, lo saben."
De alguna manera en este nuevo mundo algo se perdió.
Y a expensas de qué? A expensas de qué?
Las personas, ellas no saben.
No saben quienes son.
Y no logro entenderlo.
Las personas, ellas no saben.
No saben quienes son.
Y no logro entenderlo.
Mientras me veo acusado,
A quién le importa si Jesús era blanco o negro?
O si el mundo fue creado en siete días o siete noches?
A mi me importa un carajo de cualquier color, y a ti?
A quién le importa si la melanina de la primer persona en sucumbir frente al primer
ladrillo lanzado para completar el sueño americano era de tono oscuro o sin tono?
A mi me importa un carajo de cualquier color, y a ti?
It doesn't pay the taxes or the rent, doesn't make up for time spent
Doing life, bowing and scraping to live in a box, to live in this land, I don't understand
No paga los impuestos ni el alquiler, no recompensa el tiempo perdido.
Rebuscándose la vida, haciendo reverencias y rasguñando para poder vivir en una caja,
para vivir en esta tierra, no lo entiendo.
Simplemente no lo entiendo.
La gente no sabe quien es.
Y no puedo entenderlo.
La gente no sabe quien es.
Y no puedo entenderlo.
Desearía que la gente oliese las rosas al despertar.
Desearía que la gente oliese las rosas al despertar.
Alguien alguna vez dijo "Quienes lo sienten, lo saben."
Alguien alguna vez dijo "Quienes lo sienten, lo saben."
Alguien alguna vez dijo "Quienes lo sienten, lo saben."
La gente no sabe quien es.
Y yo no la entiendo.
No saben quienes son, no saben quienes son, no saben quienes son.
Y simplemente no puedo entenderlos.