Love, how many roads to obtain a kiss.
We bear the sole, relentless tenderness.
Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?
I am made of earth, and my song made of words.
Megaphone in which the wind passes singing.
Sufre mas el que espera siempre que aquel que nunca espero a nadie? Does he who is always waiting suffer more than he who’s never waited for anyone?