The end of the year smells like shopping,
congratulations and postcards
with renewal votes;
and I who know about the other world
that asks for life in the portals,
I give myself to make a song.
People seem to agree,
beautifully everything
It seems akin to celebrating.
Some celebrate their millions,
others the little shirt clean
and some people do not know what it is to offer.
My song is not from heaven,
the stars, the moon,
because I give it to you,
that you do not have any
My song is not just
from who can hear it,
because sometimes the deaf
Take more to love her.
Having is not a sign of evil
and not having either is proof
to accompany virtue;
but the one that is born well standing,
in procuring what he craves
You do not have to invest health.
That's why I sing to those who do not listen,
who do not listen to me,
to whom he never heard me:
to which his daily struggle
He gives me reasons to love him:
to the one that nobody sang to him.
My song is not from heaven,
the stars, the moon,
because I give it to you,
that you do not have any
My song is not just
from who can hear it,
because sometimes the deaf
Take more to love her.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)