When Were Women Able To Drive

sad song

sad song from friends,

passed from hand to hand,

to nullity of the heart, complete strangers ...

has a scent of farewell disenchantment years

when asked who we are and who we are.

Life drags on the trails of selfishness, salvation of each

and death of honesty, care, interest beyond ourselves.

know how long the pieces are placed more or less successful, falling

wooden buildings built on clay,

termites, the downpour, the ooze of old wounds and new courts, shadow of what we should be.

And everything explodes when he has to exploit

; ; and kills the weak

; ; , and falls under its own weight friendship,

praise because in times when nothing makes sense in times of sadness no one says a friend.

All fled with their treasures forcing the ground that we stayed to cabarets our graves,

to turn the pages uncertain

breaking down and face the realities of forgetting and longing,

the new eagerness and hope.

Maybe we deceive ourselves when we open our doors to anyone who sells us a little joy

but a mediocrity or worse discover the magic trick,

or see anyone struggle to be who he wanted to be being different to what I always feared being

and eventually as swindlers and eternal youth; so idealistic as hypocritical, as puzzling as the only way,

sometimes

with so little honesty,

we sink forever in the depths of what we said false.

And there we swim as adults, with the bitterness of delusion,

with an eye on who knows what fate, draining the minutes

bleed

a foot reminding us that we were worthy of union with all things,

with sincere friendship, in all for one and all for ever ..