They are approaching, woman,
times of weeds
there are no more cherries
in this room
Let's cut it, woman,
winds and tides
that a ship in the pitch
sails without a rudder...
Let us scream, woman,
until the brokenness
resurrects the song
of the crew...
These are times
of living on the wall
and we will have to do, woman,
with guts, heart.
Let's swallow, woman,
toads and snakes
that the light celebrates
its historic blackout...
Let's put our finger on the sore spot, woman,
before the Great Chameleon does it...
Let's touch, woman
bottom in the garbage
that because of the heights
the snow is coal
Let's flee, woman,
from the flight itself
that there is no longer an exit
in this alley
Let us take, woman,
forces of weakness,
bullets of beauty
from the imagination...
We dream, woman,
to be awake
among so many dead
ready for action...