On the shore
On the shore there are hormones
There are redoblonas
Black hips that girdle misery
On the shore
Cloaca of history
Blacks of the mouth
Or hazelnut
Or laferrere
Or the slaughter, which still hurts
Only garbage is thrown
White pepper is sniffed
The hearts They ooze
And they murgue
War dances
They dance to hunger
They sing to the plague
Whatever the cost
It is the art of fighting
It's a camera food of the day
A car can save them for another month
Like a pack stalking their prey
There is no worse crime than letting yourself be trashed
On the riverbank
On the riverbank you fuck around
The paraplegic moves you
The grandparents turn you around
And you fuck around
Rebellion indifferent
Give life to the hole
Flowers from the stream
On the bank
Sex is cheap
I met when I was fifteen
The face of God
On the bank
The hustler bursts
They grow more than necessary
The Indian did not disappear
On the bank
They hang ten by the tits
They are the decorations
That no genocidaire carried
On the riverbank
If they don't die of hunger
It's that something remains in the blood
That the wind did not take it away
And they cumbiean
Every night they cumbiean
They tell stories that
Not even the most It's cruel I imagined
They chew rage
Like in old reductions
Without even knowing
Where their skin comes from
The prick is like an old warrior spear
The new weapon of the urban hunter
It seems that poisoning them is not violence
Their desperation is violence
On the riverbank
On the riverbank they fuck you
The paraplegic moves you
Grandpa choreas you
And he fucks
Destitute rebellion
Give life to the hole
Flowers from the stream
On the bank
On the bank they fuck you
The paraplegic moves you
The grandfather fucks you
And he fucks you
Rebellion homeless
Give life to the hole
Flowers from the stream
On the bank

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