What? You tell me,
singer-songwriter of the noses,
what? You sing to me with that funeral air.
If you are sad,
let them tell you some joke,
if you are alone,
rot in your loneliness.
Go to the cinema,
buy some socks,
hook up,
but stop crying,
or maybe,
I'll sing to you about my failures,
I'm just here to have a drink
and I still have to put up with you.
What? torture,
enduring your priest's voice,
moralistic
and a paternal hair.
Very sharp,
you have to see the bad grapes
of that letter that you just marked.
What? opportune,
you immunize like a vaccine,
and you still don't know
a couple of more things;
that I fall asleep,
that you bore me with your verses,
you make me very sick,
please don't continue any further.

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