The rainbow follower washes his hands
with rainwater and without shaking
of the nocturnal dust goes up the road
who made the death that was the first
to open a path in the jungle
that life would rise,
the follower knows it well and respects
his sign on the door,
his sign on the door,
his sign on the door,
your door with a sign.
And he does not know, and he does not know, and he does not know,
and he does not know anything.
And he does not know, and he does not know, and he does not know,
and he does not know about anyone.
In the background and on the surface is more alone
that a simple dead, maybe more colors
who is looking for them on the wings of an angel
or with the demons or in another universe better
his poor rainbow has two colors
the black and the white and the rain painted with grays is sad,
what a sad thing,
what a sad thing,
what a sad thing,
How sad and what a thing.
The follower has loaded the children of others
on his worn knees going
who sow seeds will have to watch over them
when he remembers it, he empties his pockets to the ground,
throw away the papers, the dust, the razor blade,
although they are only debris that finds rolling in ditches
in any way,
in any way,
in any way,
what fear to stay.
The rainbow follower always says goodbye
nobody knows him in the middle of the greeting
he is a vagabond full of memories
that will be forgotten for being so light
for not wearing a tie or dust on the frown
for going to mourn where dogs cry at the back of a patio
at the bottom of a patio,
at the bottom of a patio,
at the bottom of a patio,
of a patio without a bottom.
Only among all we can make this a better place :)