For looking always for the edge
Without ever being able to find it
Trying to grasp the opening
Of many mental distances
A few days without silence
They ended broken
Like a bone is broken
When occurs a blow unknown or unexpected.
The wonder that is left by one
The cruel abandoning of ceremonies
And all the emotion that her words expressed
But was silenced by the environment
As if they were the story of a poison
Of a horrible and unmentionable crime
Opening written ways
For the sweet lie of pills
When time addresses the idea
Of its particular end, that is its rest.
The theory of repentance
And a thirst that increases
To confessing sincerely and honestly
Like gunpowder traces on the hands of the assassin.
Facing the stress
With the approval of your heart
That likes to run
Although for this could need rest
Transforming the stones into bones
And in ashes the memory praised in other times
It is like the game of existence pulls
It is the perceived manifestation of remote impulses.
And suddenly the night
And the body feels cold
It is discovered the worn hands
In the eyes, it is suspected fatigue.
For just one more opportunity
For an old attempt
Wanting to be born again.