We know, you and I know,
that by H by B or by Jei
your destiny (which is none other than the path that
on the mud traced your feet) was seen
illuminated and shadowed by musical bowers, by the white rose and the
artful and silent bomb of tenderness.
Always running away, always leaving
as if the ground you stepped on burned your
pride, sex, guitar, I say as if you
set fire to the liver and mercy,
the saddlebag where you have been carrying since
girl your aquatic heart
You loaded a suitcase so many times that you
soul became clay and your mouth a bird.
But, in short, I was just going to tell you
that sometimes the scars tremble as if
They will hang from a spider's thread. Finally,
we are all going to offer you more or less the
Same ports, the same Trojans, the same Cyclops and village twins.
We all inhabit the same land, we will not be so different. Not special.
But if something distinguishes us from the rest of the
animals is that it is enough that I name you,
It's enough that you call me, to sweep away with slaps
all the sadness in this world