At 27 days of May
of the year 70 a man climbs
about his defeats
ask for the word moments before
go mad
He is not a man, he is a juggler
of a generation
is not a man perhaps an object
of fun
a common toy of history
like a monogram that says buffoon
That man is me, that man is me
But I must say that I have to be born
in the past and I will not go back
that's why one day I saw myself in the present
with a foot there where death lives
and another foot suspended in the air
looking for a place, claiming land of the future
to rest
that's how we are and my brothers
as a precipice in equilibrium
and like glass eyes,
and like glass eyes.
Now I want to talk about dead poets and living poets
of so many children from this party
and the tortures of being themselves
because it has to be said
that there are those who die on their paper
so live your life your size has to hurt
our life is so high, so high
that to touch it you almost have to die
to later live, to then live
I do not deny what I have to do
I do not regret it, I do not have any guilt
but I would have liked to be able to play
all the death there in the past
or all life in the future that I can not reach
and with this I do not want
tell me to cry,
I know we have to keep sailing
keep demanding me more and more
until I can continue, until I can continue,
burst
Only among all we can make this a better place :)