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?
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