It seems that in this always political land we are all crocodiles and guilty; Before the contrary is proven, we were born to be guilty. We know that by the mouth we will die and that much to our regret either in the free and sacred silence we will have some kind of common refuge, some hero to defend us, some light that shelters us. He dumps it, if you're so brave and kind; I said, death, speak, commit yourself…: By force. But woe to those who say, but woe to those who express themselves spontaneously; now you can't be one without being lynched or spear-thrown like a toad. And even the language of silence is thought suspicious and understood, a den of thieves or lizards who bolt in a dark room and alone. But what do you want, if it is because I speak I disappear, if it is that if I keep silent it is because I am alone, indecisive, arrogant: a coward as the worst of enemies.