He knows what he has done, there is no turning back, It is time for this delay to take off its disguise, Insipid, odorless crying, cannot stand it anymore, This colorless life filled with tears.
And he told me, be careful what you say, Turned his back and slowly left, Like a bird when it fears the open flight, And he did not fly, I could see in his face... tears, tears... He wore handcuffs on his wings.
The pain is inhaled, but not faced, Nobody pulls off that pack of weeds, When is cornered at bullet point, Serious music shoots off in misery.
If a tree is felled with the censorship ax, Another will come into being and grow with strong roots, purer, Against madness, ready to endure torture And the darkest nights.
High, high like a pine tree is the dimension of that crime, He said, " But no, do not rhyme that way, Because they will turn the road difficult for you to walk, It is well known that it will not fail, thus anyone gets depressed.
Do not comment, shut up, you can look at, but not touch, can’ t you see? Do not go into details, the fish dies by its mouth, Fail, or I will see you as several years ago, I saw many more fall, you do not know what they are capable of.
And he did not fly, not because he did not want it, He did not fly because the courage flew and it costed him to wander, Wandering, under his narrow roof, and ignoring That he has been scrapped by laws that must be violated.
And without right to appeal, they cut your hair loo short and they are a bunch of people, Those who watch and uncover all conspiracies, The strip is stretched and when it shrinks, it entraps hundreds, Picks up all who welcome regret.
And I saw him crying, he turned his reddened back, Apathetic and phlegmatic in its key Cuba Alive, Rolling on his tires, discreet in saliva, Keeping the secret to the whips of this life,
And I saw him crying his back turned red, Fanatic about alcohol and sports news, Rolling on their tires, following the ones above, Shouting— just pretending— their favorite slogans.
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