Nothing global appears inside me
and the tears of my loneliness are climbing
the mountain of pictures and sold books.
But the inner voice is break with tomate soup
like Warhol’s paint, and a grave of noise
arrise like an ocean
inside these nowhere land that I am.
Filled the time with bubble gum soul
fake love fake sight fake tongue.
Speak the length of what I choose.
The sadly toy who I am, destiny toy
that flies with solitude appearance
like a gray cloud, lost in the sky who never
take back the sun with its lightnings and drops.