Like someone who travels on the back of a dark mare,
For the way city, do not ask addendum.
I am looking for an encounter that illuminates my day,
and I find no more than doors that deny what they hide.
The chimneys pour their v? Myth of smoke
to a sky that is getting farther and farther away.
Through the ocher walls the juice is scattered
of a blood fruit grown on the asphalt.
Already the field be? green, it must be Spring,
crosses an interminable train through my eyes,
the neighborhood where I live is not a meadow,
Desolate landscape of antennas and cables.
I live at number seven, Melancol? A street.
I want to move years ago to the neighborhood of joy.
But whenever I try it the tram has already left
and on the stairs I sit down to whistle my melody.
Like someone who travels on board a crazed ship,
that comes from the night and goes nowhere,
ace? my feet descend the slope of oblivion,
fatigued from so much walking without finding you.
Then, back home, I light a cigarette,
I order my papers, I solve a crossword puzzle;
I get angry with the shadows that populate the corridors
and I embrace the absence that you leave in my bed.
I climb for your memory like a vine
who can not find windows to hold on to, I'm
that absurd epidemic suffered by the sidewalks,
If you want to find me, you know where I am.
I live at number seven, Melancol? A street.
I want to move years ago to the neighborhood of joy.
But whenever I try it the tram has already left
and on the stairs I sit down to whistle my melody
Only among all we can make this a better place :)