The Monster doesn't come out of the closet,
the Monster that takes away
give your children bread
the Monster that increases your rent
the one who asks you for a little more blood
promising that one day in the future
you will chew nuts and flour again,
the Monster that eats your hours of
sleep and swallows the coffee dust that
you snacked,
It doesn't come from the closet
but from your television, there you sit with your wife
Let's see Drivers sheathed in
leather shoes that cost half a fortnight
about your salary and your wife and you laugh at
the comedian's occurrences,
and a little later they will believe they are attending the gala
of Knowledge when a Minister explains
with complicated words that you
bad luck is simple: you have to try harder,
the country is taken out of the well by working
and then you and your wife drink mate
calm down, the world is in order,
The Monster puts out his hand
through your television screen
He stretches out his fingers and steals your cookies
the table, you smile and your wife smiles,
in three minutes the news starts
where the feathered spokesmen of the Monster
They will explain the world to you
with luxury of details.