I opened the iron gate,
I felt as it squeaked, bumped into a trunk
and I looked a lit window, but the early morning
He devoured the leaves and you don't were there telling me
that the world is broken and rusty. I entered,
I went up the stairs in silence, I opened another door,
I took off my sack, I sat down, I said to myself I am sweating,
I started hitting my poor machine talk,
snoring and dying (You slept, you sleep, you do not know
how much I love you), I took off my tie and shirt,
I got the new soul that I did this afternoon,
I kept typing and cursing, loving you and biting me
cuffs. And suddenly came up to me other voices:
they were singing impossible and beautiful things, IBAN
the morning, they remembered kisses that were left rotting in the river,
lips that destroyed the absence.
And I didn't want to say anything
more: I don't want to talk about, Perhaps in the chirp
the gate I cruelly broke the air of your dream.
What does matter to enter or exit or desnacer.
I take my shoes
and I threw them blind, lovingly, against the world.