The event page
of Mercury and La Estafeta,
between diets for obese,
gossip and false prophets,
confirmed that without kisses
the violets wither.
I curse from the high heaven
that expropriated us his song,
his tenths, his handkerchief,
his quinchamalí, his crying,
viola of chicha and grapefruit,
panics of fright.
Insolence will have been seen,
cynicism and treachery,
they pollute decency,
kidnap the fantasy,
when innocence cries
They call the police.
Violeta Parra said it,
sister of Nicanor,
luckily I have a guitar
and without boasting of voice,
if you invite me to a party
count on my heart
They flew from Chicago
some gringos with a tie
and in a suite in Santiago,
without stepping on Chuquicamata,
defecated in my payment,
There were no serenades.
More alone than a suitcase
forgotten in the Gran Vía,
since Violeta left
mourning poetry,
they get angry with poets
the misspellings.
The mouth of my Chile,
the smart ones from Guasington,
they wither with rifles
that riddled the reason,
Malaysian are the parades
and the Christ who founded them.
The poor are not rich
nor copper is more than clay,
freedom closes the peak
since there is a curfew,
ask the military
what they did in La Moneda.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)