subtle melancholy
occupying the bottom of that heart sweating,
you know it's yours.
If you could drive away the thorn in the side, that merciful veil of mourning past and present, that line of weeping women
A song without flowers, lifeless nails it!
If quartered the swamp of blood
with large knives
and I could buy you all a piece of life,
I could laugh with his teeth,
I look with eyes only.
Death
The rustle of your bad breath is the poisoned blade of a knife that is like a sentence on our heads and the wind whistles
And laughs
of our go spastic looking for the solution.
Muse or enemy
Want relegated between rows of marble,
soggy turf
flames faded and fading
the stench of bodies abandoned.
Your kingdom is not made of flowers, crumpled into tears and rain, is the heart of a man without shoes in hand.
siren blue as lightning in the night, screaming and trembling.
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