The possibility

Permission to change
To generate and transform
To raise a protest
High above a deep hole.

Brief land, offended
By the complaining of its birds
For its weary breath
Of those who don’t feel it.

One lie after another
The fragility of preaching
In the tortuous rooms
Where only one woman
Supplies pleasure to hundreds

Eyes well opened
But for everyday things
And the mouth ready
Only so it can repeat.

Thus in the subways
From which we emerge each morning
With our double breasted suits
And our shoes that seems to look shinny.

Talking about money
Generating more money
Like adjusted pieces
Of a barely comprehensible machine,

For lamentation its time
For discovering its moment
The order of events
For someone who fears scandals

Promises for shortages
An ongoing party for the uncontrollable
While the dishonor of the race
It’s sprinkling the stones with decay.

And that it matters little or nothing
Except for some type of miracle
A smile can be more, this
And the whole world can fit in a man.