Do you know that at this point innocence doesn't come back too dirty? what you have on your hands that anger dissolves in the morning like a shadow while the nerves give in to the calls the concept of the absurd little by little takes shape every day deludes its tomorrow do you mind if? Didn't I tell you that I need you even though I don't know how to demand what you hated in vain, speak softly here? a wall of questions that listens to us with a nail called guilt, hope fed us and now? a sad and dirty wing under a sky that makes it tired the concept of pain gradually transforms we are the birth of a distorted age I'm sorry if? I must admit it doesn't matter if it doesn't come out well, the important thing is that it does well for us, it will never be as they whisper, the Indians don't win