Speech For My Fathers 60th Birthday

The Ideal Search

A boy s'addentra for the human lands. Move your search to the adamantine Peace that has always inspired. At each step, however, here it is doubt and despair in her eyes you can tell the object of his desire from the usual filth. The land is crossed by countless men from these pits and the smell of hot sal rot: I am a stay of the parasites, intent to be consumed from time immemorial. Who wants to bring in some other places to sink in that the soles Ooze. And there is no hope of anything other than eat human brother exhausted most of the other, helpless and desperate, he gets food who does not see his fear and disavows his face.
And so a certain time of the boy crossing the streets in force, armed, and all of a beggar. He has not and does not ask for hope: scared hiding in the folds of his ragged coat. Expect the next moment every second, without thinking more thrills and cries for nothing but to fly off his head from his neck. But the ideals aliens push the boy to avoid such a fratricide. And the beggar to the next question him to keep his blade, said it was not that it is food that smells like dead meat on its own. Her eyes empty and reflect off the image of the boy away, do not understand how hard ancestral move those legs between bedbugs and cockroaches, among traps and carcasses.

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plowed fields

A boy s'addentra to the lands of men. Moves toward peace seeking his dream in glittering crystals. At each step, however, here it is doubt and despair in her eyes you can tell the object of his desire from the usual filth.
The land of men is covered by endless furrows. From these warm salt smell of rotting pest populations intent to consume each other since time immemorial. Wanting to cross these lands, you must sink the foot of the mud and eating the fruits that grow there you have to kill people, more hungry, you become weak.
And so a certain time to face the boy sees a strong, armed, and a beggar devoured by time. There is no hope for the beggar, who intimidated hides in the folds of his ragged coat. Expect the next moment every second, without thinking more thrills and cries for nothing but to fly out of his head from his neck. But the ideals aliens push the boy to avoid such a fratricide. And another question because the beggar retain his blade, said it was not food is what it smells like its dead flesh. Son
two dead eyes and empty vedon reflected the image of the boy away, do not understand how hard ancestral move those legs between bedbugs and cockroaches, among traps and carcasses.

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Scorched Earth

My chest hurts, stifled by my body lying on the asphalt. Quest'asfalto to which they are linked by blood, kiss him with my dirty mouth wound and while I lift his face from the scorching caress. From the lips a little liquid air to ground when chasing I rise on the legs, getting up at all, even without the mastery of the senses.
's still dangling that I walk in the street, and behind me I leave the dead My innocent soul: how I would live to the view that dominates at every step? Remains excavated from the huge desert winds only serve to remind us that greatness is fleeting, while corrosion eternal. And what about this war-torn streets of ambition? Runs through a forced sudden detours, and no longer has his way, his great soul. The ground has been burned by the wheels that have trampled on, they killed the engine stopping and planting their tents on its banks. I have no place in the camp near here, with his family and his clumsy smoke shouting: live in the illusion of being foolish home quand'ancor mortar are not yet exhausted my wounds and hunger does not stop. Where to stop my steps? How to quit the dull chaos of these stupid people?