The unknown woman cumbia...

She was looking to the west side,
It had never been to late for a tear,
In her eyes, the shape of a bloody smile,
In which kisses became dead poetry.

She was wearing only this purple ribbon,
tied up her head.
A war of thousands was going on her body.
Wile she, walking, making love to the road,
with her naked feet burning this dead city streets,
became my only mirror…

I never know her, this story takes part in sickness,
the desires of a dangerous mind that creates life from nothing.
It is only a story of a man in black suit,
Trying to get a little bed less lonelier…

Instead, sarcasm is allwas walking next to me...