The murderess
clutching his weapon, the offender
invents a new excuse.
riguastato The gods have the weather, sunshine
tearing our poor clouds
while invisible drops of blood
us wet and warm the face.
A woman naked on a cold table
is robbed of his empire,
tears of blood oozing from the heart of the poor devil.
Day after day
sporadic memories of a life never lived,
never looked at a time, making us feel welcome there
stupid.
Mrs. continues his work
reaper of souls,
a child screaming in the world
hoping to change something.
The carousel continues unabated
and stubborn in her lap, and every moment
us back to the starting point.
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