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Jun 2018 · 317
Julian Revà Jun 2018
Oh the wrath!
Oh the wrath!
The dreadful path
of forgotten throes
that threw no more
than only lies
Rattles of anger
and distrust
That's the wrath
Apr 2018 · 345
All the nocturnal dreads
Julian Revà Apr 2018
There's a gap between what
I fear and what I think
to fear; there's a night, sure,
between those tiny things

Because to fear is to live,
as the leaf
in the burning forest
still breathing, fearing
not the death, but leaving the living

I do not fear the death
I just fear the night falling over
my sholder, my head; my integrity
what it means being me

I fear those things I'm not certain of
(as the rest of living things I think)
But scarier is to know
that we truely do not know
the certainty of all
the things we say we know

And of all those nocturnal dreads
there are a few that keep me awake
waiting for an answer that will never come
as the lost remembrance of an ancient love
as the farther forefather of a forgotten folk
as the man watching through my window
in a windy storm passing by the city

There's a lot of dreads at the midnight
that keep me awake thinking
about things that I should not
but I think all the condamned
are bound to write about nightmares
and imaginariums that does not belong to us
but yet, they're ours to transform

And maybe one day the dreads will go
far away from our city, as the storm
maybe one day we will burn as the leaf
and then we will stop fearing
what we do not really know
Mar 2018 · 530
Call me
Julian Revà Mar 2018
Call me in the darkness
Call me in silence
Call me when you don't need me
Call me when is not necessary
Call me when I'm useless
               when I don't have enought time
Call me when I get tired
Call me at any moment
               and wake me up at any time
Because I don't want to wait more
               for you and your call
Because I simply don't want to be alone
               in the darkness
I don't want to be anymore
Julian Revà Mar 2018
I hope one day you run out of beauty
(for your good)
I hope you realize that you are more
than a shining smile and wide hips
And even if you do not know
I am here to remember for you
Because you are more than
what they want you to be
Because you do not need to give
what they want out of you

I hope one day you run out of beauty
to let you see what beauty really is
But what I hope most of all is
that you run out of beauty before
you run out of time
I hope you do, because otherwise
it would be too late and too sad
being just a beauty without knowing
you could be more than what you are

Because you are more than they want
Mar 2018 · 338
Sad is all the dying things
Julian Revà Mar 2018
All the time something's dying
All the time is dying too
All the time we don't have
and the rest we let slip
through our hands
As in an hourglass
without the ticking
of convencional clocks
Tearing us apart
making us less than us
making us just dust
as in an hourglass

Meanwhile, something's dying
and that something is "us"
How fragile are we?
One day something's alive
and next we know, it runs out of time
But time never runs out of us
Life do not die
Dying is just for us

And I find it sad
And I find it unique
And I find out that I
am running out of time
Meanwhile I write this
How fragile this poem is
How fragile I am
Mar 2018 · 246
Julian Revà Mar 2018
I as a ghost
I as a shadow
eclipse the sun
I as the silence
make nonsense words
I as a poem
rhyme, feel and beat
beating heart
beating sound
beating all the odds
against me
Because I as I
am nothing more
than what I can

God provide
God deprive
God what am I
God am I
God I am
God as I
I as am
Nothing else
Nothing more
that's what we are

I as a writer
Mar 2018 · 185
Cheap poetry
Julian Revà Mar 2018
I will not shatter for cheap poetry
nor will I cry for inspirational streak
I live among the letters' poverty
So that is why I only write for me

I do not care of your contained rage
I only give credit to the aesthetic pledge
of a well-structed poem or a story to tell

I started living among rats
for my own way of writing
          (and I find it simply fine)
Because I do not shatter for cheap poetry
Instead I die for richness of beauty and art
Mar 2018 · 177
Julian Revà Mar 2018
I feel you throb in every noise
I hear you shudder in each bed
I feel your kiss in all the lips
I see your look in all the eyes
I cry you in each pair of tears
I hug you in each pair of arms
I see you flow in all the rivers
I seek for you in each letter
   (to burn you all)
I totally hate you in every envy
I scream at you in all the moans
I write you in each one of my poems
I love you in each one of your words
I die for you day by day
I live for you everynight
I remember you in every
          forgotten memory
I forget you in each
         new remembrance

I secretly build you
in the same story as mine

I am the father of your children,
the grandfather of each of your seed
I am the grave that resides
close to you in eternity

I'm still nothing of yours
I'm becoming your whole
Originally, this poem was in spanish, so I tried to translate it, but I couldn't do it at all. So I changed it a little bit; I removed certain verses and altered the order of other ones. These are some of the lost verses in spanish:

te anhelo y no es mentira
y en parte es un secreto
y en parte me confundes
pero nunca te confundiría

cualquier legado
del que me hagas heredero
será atesorado; será legado
a otros herederos de otros reinos]
Mar 2018 · 234
Antipoetical Night
Julian Revà Mar 2018
There are scratches on my sight
appealing to feelings I forgot
and barely can remember
Forasmuch as I can know
something's dying inside

I don't keep dead furniture
in my heart's room [that's for sure];
somehow, something's started rotting;
stinks and make me ****** and cold
Maybe they are buried hopes

Buried really deep, beneath all
the useless furniture that grace heart
Because there's always plenty of room
at the heart for more heart and more love

And this antipoetical night
leads me exactly to nowhere
Where I can be completely alone
and enjoy of all the room
that's plenty, beneath my hopes

There is no inspiration
there are no vows to take
There are no rhyms to rhyme
and there are no verses to verse
There are no poems
if there are no poets anymore
Feb 2018 · 219
Sinsentido No. 5 (Spanish)
Julian Revà Feb 2018
A poem in spanish

Sé que la gracia se halla
en no llamar ni ser llamado
De ir por ahí, inmiscuido
inexacto, impreciso;
a destiempo | La gracia radica
en lo importuno de la oportunidad
que no se aprovecha, pero
se arrepiente, se duele
"se busca"
El punto es ir dando lástima
lastimando, hastiando
jodiendo; y joder
es un buen verbo
Hay otros tantos que riman
tan bien infinitiva-mente
pero joder es el adecuado;
       es polifacético
El punto también es joder
[cuando nos acurrucábamos
en un corruco y
nos buscábamos y
nos amábamos y
nos jodíamos unilateralmente]
Nos jodíamos cuando
nos necesitábamos
Pero ahora es distinto
Ahora sólo nos presentimos
como espasmos, como fríos
como escalofríos en la espina dorsal
Nos sentimos, lo sentimos; (lo siento)
nos vamos sintiendo
en cada esquina en la cual presentimos -
en la parte de la ciudad en la que
                  va solo mi brazo
     y va rajada tu muñeca;
me jodo solo por estar tan "sólo
pensando" en lo que hubiera dicho
o en cualquier rima que
hubiera callado / sin forma
No hay forma de volver a formarnos,
de volver a ser uno solo,
de no estar deseando
que todo esto acabe,
que sea otra pesadilla
sobre lo miserable que es todo
El punto es ignorarnos
     hasta el ocaso,
hasta que se nos olvide
que nos vamos olvidamos
El punto es no hacer daño
dañando a cada rato
                   (un poco más)
sin perdonarnos, sin buscar
queriendo hacernos más daño
Sorry for not translating this, but I find it perfect likes this.
Feb 2018 · 4.6k
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I recently have noticed
how sick I look on you
everytime you post a pic
or share a moment

I look sick following you
Everytime that you try
to make your life apart
I look sick when I follow you
not through dark alleys
but on twitter, facebook
or instagram

I am not used to write
odd modern poetry
but you deserve a reason
to why I started
unfollowing you

So, everytime you upload
a last-night-party pic
I want you to know I won't be there
looking for every guy you were
hanging around with

Because lately I've noticed
that I look sick not for following you
but for being aware
of what you were doing

I'm sick of being a post
instead of being a memory
I'm sick of social media
and their way of twisting things

Making us more a number or dates
instead of making us "friends"
(who says that you can't be friend with your ex?
maybe ancient rules, maybe an idiot
with post-traumatic-relationship-stress)

I'm sick of "follows", "tweets", "likes"
ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends

I'm unfollowing you for my health
I'm unfollowing the entire world 'cause
constantly they remind me to you
with all their fake friends and ***** guys
and ***** girls; ******* attention that
maybe they don't truely deserve

Yeah, probably I should unfollow the world
                                                     for my health
Feb 2018 · 299
Julian Revà Feb 2018
What would've happened if our touch hadn't died?
Certainly, I cannot bring feelings back to life
neither can I know of non-existent futures
nor talk by odds about how they look like

Because contact is just a past-tense verb
doesn't happen often, just can happened in the past
If you touched me now, we would been talking
about touching                                              
but not being in "contact"

Maybe is a matter of language
because in some other countries they use
contact to mean touch, and touch to mean contact
But you hadn't touched me
neither have you had contact

We are in an unreachable distance now

So, even if you tried to call me
by the phone, with a small chat
I'd be so far, out of reach
that your touch would never reached me

Sometimes you cannot bring caress back to life
and I think that's the true meaning of being
in "contact"                                              

We are lost, in another times
like a past-tense verb
as "contact" trying to be "touch"
as "goodbye" trying to be "hi"

I know we are unreachable now
Nonetheless, I think we should try
once again, being in "contact"
There's a spanish phrase:
"estar en contacto" (being in touch) that also can be translate as "being in contact". I find it confusing; what's the truly difference about touch, contact, hi and goodbye?
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Sometimes I wish I had
the raging verse and the naked word
to summarize what is going on
with people, with my mind, with the world

Sometimes I wish I had
the confidence to trust someone else
to let him or her read my letters
and try to figure out all this mess

I don't plead for mercy
nor cleanance for this mess
I don't plead for reason
I just want to have the raging verse

I don't plead for silence
nor pent claps inside halls
I don't plead for voices
I just want more ears to hear me more

I disown the rules of poetry
And recognize only a single language
                                    around the world
That sings about love, beauty
suffering, power,
history and more

I hear it and I hope you hear it too
I try to sing along | I hope you try it too

Because I don't want to be alone
Singing among a crowd in a pent hall
Quiet, deaf and silent

Yes, sometimes I wish I had
the raging verse and the naked word
to make people rage and denude their souls
Feb 2018 · 108
Dance & Corner
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I am the one, cornered in a corner,
I am the one who is not invited
He who dances alone
Feb 2018 · 103
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I do not know the reason why I'm crying
But I've been told that it may be because of you
I have flatly denied such words and comments
Since I would not cry for someone who does not cry for me
Feb 2018 · 127
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Suffering lips, broken by the grief
of not feeling once again, the taste of my lips
(Spanish Translation)

Labios sufridos, que se quiebran por el pesar
De no sentir una vez más, el sabor de los míos.
Feb 2018 · 84
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I try to disdain any relevant fact that, for more irrelevance than you give it, it will still doing too much harm. I try to avoid the obvious, respect the impropriety. I try to let you go as I known you long before, avoiding becoming you another part of me. I will keep trying, even if I daily fail. Although I get fed up by your company, even if you do not even try to stay here with me. I will not bind you, I will not force you; because I love you, I will let you go.

Will you come back? I do not know, that will not depend on me anymore.
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Do not falter before midnight
Because absolutely I need you,
               warm and close
Because I need from your open empire
Do not falter before midnight

Refrain from any aversion or madness
Don't touch yourself
even to comb your hair
Stay unique, curious and pure
Please, do not give up

Because I feel abandoned and forgotten
I need from the light of your cave
that shelters me from the cold
I only ask for protection and warmth

Because I wander in this cold winter
all alone as a lost lover far from home
Please, do not falter before midnight
before I could get to you tonight

It would be unfit if I find you broken
and with all your gates covered
Or worse; occupied or blocked
Because then I would die from cold

So take my strenghts and will to go on
And please do not give up
Do not falter before midnight
because I need you more than ever
in this cold winter were I am lost
Do not falter before midnight
Feb 2018 · 122
The Word
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Dampness. Silence.
White loneliness.
I am legends.
Extinct flames.
Warriors' Ecstasy.
Victories and chants.
Mythical and demiurgic.
The time in a second.
The last. The murmur.
What they do not say.
I am the secret.
The wind in your hair.
What you have never had.
The fallen trees. The devastation.
Persian, Greek and ancient.
I am the path.
Of Jesus Christ and Zarathustra.
The Prophet and the Buddha.
I am the limbo.
Between the dunes and the tundra.
I am the Gladiator's grave.
The laurel of the Caesar.
The betrayal of the emperor.
The cry of Arc. The arrow of the Great.

The poem.

The song of the Iliad and the Odyssey.
I am Apollo and Gilgamesh.
The inquisition and the crusades.
Blessed and crucified.
Forbidden and buried.
I am the word made verb.
And the woman and the man in a single verse.
I am the inaccurate time, without measure or count.
Regressive; Memories; Oblivion.
Plural and whole.
Wishing and making others crave.
I am the only one left.
The last respite. The last breath.
I am all that remains.
After the universe ends
Feb 2018 · 115
Of old saxons and Ulysses
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I have never dared into the old readings
                            of not so ancient texts
Because I always have believed
that so ulterior culture is not for me

So I wonder to myself sometimes
if someone ever had understood Ulysses
with all those recherche wordiness
and cleverly usage of imagination

Because, as you know, I'm not so clever
neither the most versed man on Earth
yet I can write some things
in another unseemly language

Somehow, I find the old saxon
(as the old Borges would say)
                          quite peculiar

Maybe one day I reach the necessary level
to comprehend the wonders that my mother tongue
cannot provide me nor teach me

So only that way
I could really say
I can understand Ulysses
My mother tongue is spanish.

I'm a huge admirer of Jorge Luis Borges, and is well known that he was such a great english speaker (also he was really good at other languages).
Feb 2018 · 303
I slept with my loneliness
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Last nigtht I slept with my loneliness
It was better than sleeping all alone
It was better than nothing at all

She didn't leave in the morning
She made a great company
We shared the whole night
              with all her stories

We talk for hours until dawn's coming

Perhaps today I decide to invite her again
to have a coffee with her, go for a walk
Maybe I'm starting to fall in love of her
I can barely know what's on my head
so I can't tell what's on my heart

Maybe I'm start loving my own loneliness
and I find that kinda pretty sad
Feb 2018 · 83
The One
Julian Revà Feb 2018
"I am the one, cornered in a corner,
I am the one who is not invited
                                  to the dance
He who dances alone
                                     in the dark"
Feb 2018 · 110
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I feel the breeze of those forests
where we were completely naked;
when we ran together, among the trees

I remember the earth
damp like your skin,
cold and *****
as your lips
tasting sweet

But now I see myself
lonely, eating what's left
living completly in yesterday

I find myself broken
with a cracked beat
Because you have left
the naked breeze
among another trees

Now I miss the forest
and now I miss your skin
—To María, only if you could remember...
Feb 2018 · 655
Julian Revà Feb 2018
let's forget eachother - let's forget who we are
where we are going
let's forget and just remember
names and streets where we met

why did we fall in love?

where are we going?

let's forget where and why we met
where we fell in love
streets and names
let's forget ourselves
forget who we are
just remember

where we met, just remember
let's forget where we are going

why we met?

let's forget eachother
let's forget who we are
names and strets
let's forget

why did we meet?
where did we meet?
let's forget
who are we?
where are we going to?
let's forget streets and names
just remember to forget

forget remember
where are we going to?
names and or streets, forget
forget what we were supposed to forget
let's forget ourselves
what? why? me? she?
let's forget what is "we"

Originally, this was a dada poem.
Feb 2018 · 238
Mist and Fog
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Everytime I say your name
I imagine a blurred landscape
between the mist and the mountains

And among those mountains there is art
that has half-drawn you,
                                  reminding yourself
while you are among the fog

That confusing fog of ups and downs
will have covered your hair completely
before I can portray your face

So I forget the face with your name
but not your art neither the memory
Cause the memories fly but
                                 without your art

Because among the mists
            and the mountains
I still can read your hair and your trails
that you have roamed so much with me

I do not rhyme or measure because,
along with you, the world's verses
will make sense more than ever

And outstretching my arm and the brush
the pen spilling ink on the paper
I will write a verse and I will paint you
                            a portrait as the fog
—To Rebeca.
Your name still reminds me a fog portrait; pretty and blurred.
Feb 2018 · 166
I am back
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I am back, jaded, tired; crammed with all the world's burdens, with sorrows and feelings, with the drowned in the chest, and the dried in the heart; with the desert of the eyes and the deluge of the mouth.

I am back without more creativity, nor for a final verse. I'm dying and you die with me. Because I'm back, but I have not come back with you.

How ******* destiny is —the chance, the predicate and the subject—; the future and the providence. How ******* is that who writes this; that sadistic storyteller that watches from above and plot-twisted everything, destining different endings than those which were expected.

Who would say that I would return to the same place after so much, with a broken promise, an evicted soul, and an uncertain future?

Who would say that I came back, even if I look more gone than when I left? What a pity to return, but not being the same again.
(Spanish Translation)

He regresado, hastiado cansado; atiborrado de todas las cargas del mundo, de las penas y los sentimientos, de lo ahogado en el pecho, y seco en el corazón; del desierto de los ojos y el diluvio de la boca.

He vuelto sin más creatividad, ni para un último verso. Me muero y te mueres conmigo. Pues he vuelto, pero no he vuelto contigo.

Qué desgraciado es el destino —el azar, el predicado y el sujeto—; el futuro y la providencia. Qué desgraciado es quienquiera que escriba esto; ese narrador sádico
que mira desde lo alto y le da vuelta a las tuercas destinando finales distintos a los esperados.

Quién diría que volvería al mismo sitio después de tanto con una promesa rota, un alma desahuciada, y un futuro incierto.

Quién diría que he vuelto aunque pareciera más ido que cuando me fui. Qué tristeza volver, pero no volver a ser el mismo.
Feb 2018 · 155
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Beauty suits you better from far, as in an abstract painting, in some museum of a place that I can not afford the trip, in which I could not approach even an inch. And it will still be beautiful.

—To Daniela, even if you do not know
(Spanish Translation)

"La belleza se te ve mejor desde lejos, como en una pintura abstracta, en algún museo de un sitio que no puedo costear el viaje, en el cual no podría acercarme ni a un metro. Y aun así seguiría igual de bello."

—A Daniela, aunque tú no lo sepas
Feb 2018 · 137
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Once she called me by the phone, and I answer "I cannot". I hung up without knowing she wanted to tell me "I love you". Time after, I phoned her back but there was only a busy line.
Feb 2018 · 95
II (The dream)
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I screamed for mercy
I searched for peace
I found out the lone ranger
Waiting alone for me

In his hallow cloak
Of timeless times
I saw my future and my past
Both of them had passed

Away in a lapse of absence
There I was; thinking the death
Of all the beings, closing approach
Yes, there is not. Not enough time

For the dream is ending
Just the same as my life

I screamed again
Just to see what I have
In my hands
There was a horse,
Waiting for us
Because I’m the lone ranger
Just as I am not
Because there will be
Always two of us
Feb 2018 · 125
Julian Revà Feb 2018
I would like to be able to draw a faint smile on marble; to access her secrets, corrupting his purity. But I only find stone that looks like marble (and I think it's marble).
         -respite, inaccesible, unattainable.
Because, sometimes, between my desperate attempts to make the deaf hear and to make the blind see, I go insane, crazy, alienated and abandoned to my fate. What will be of me? It does not matter anymore, I guess, because in the end we always end up talking about you, us, the ones on the other side, those you did not want, the demons you've tried to bury on the ground
         -because of you, for you, by you.
I would like to re-remedy what it was started, to rebuild each piece of our foundations and give out all the lost, but how can I deceive time? How can I tell him that what have been years for you have been lives for me? Because, if you did not know, every day was a century, every century is the calendar in which you have not been with me.
         -you have thrown naked into oblivion.
Because, sometimes, I did not need a greeting to remind myself that I have not died yet; it is that I only haven't been with you. Irremediably, in the end, we are always pathetic; even marble will die someday
         -it's a pity that my love does not.
(Spanish Translation)

Quisiera poder delinear una tenue sonrisa sobre mármol; acceder a sus secretos, corromper su pureza. Mas me encuentro sólo con piedra que parece y creo es mármol
—ríspido, inaccesible, inalcanzable.
Porque, a veces, entre mis intentos desesperados por hacer oír a los sordos y ver a los ciegos, quedo loco, demente, alienado y abandonado a mi suerte. ¿Qué será de mí? Ya no importa supongo, pues al final siempre terminamos hablando de ti, nosotros, los del otro lado, los que no quisiste, los demonios que has intentado enterrar
—por ti, por ti, por ti.
Quisiera volver a remediar lo empezado, a reconstruir cada pieza de nuestros cimientos y repartir cabal lo perdido, pero ¿cómo engaño al tiempo? ¿Cómo decirle que lo que para ti han sido años para mí han sido vidas? Porque, si no lo sabías, cada día era un siglo, cada siglo representa el calendario en el cual no has estado conmigo
—me has arrojado sin ropajes al olvido.
Porque, a veces, no hacía mayor falta un saludo para recordarme que no he muerto, sólo que no he estado contigo. Irremediablemente, al final, siempre somos patéticos; aún el mármol morirá algún día
—lástima que mi amor no.
Julian Revà Feb 2018
Some people say hate is a harsh word
But I think is not as harsh as love
Because you cannot die from hating
But yes from love; usually call heartbreak
And for those times we think we’re breaking
Falling to pieces, burning in ashes

For the decisions we have made
Feb 2018 · 334
We owe ourselves
Julian Revà Feb 2018
We owe ourselves to the first loves,
to the unforgettable "forevers"
and to the fleeting lies
that made us happy once

We owe ourselves to the oil
and to the body, not to hatred,
much less to others that aren't us
We owe ourselves to happiness
(at least)

And even if we ran out of memories
I'll remember myself (it's a promise
or at least that is what I pretend)
Since the truth is that I quickly forget
what I feel; I regret

I regret to owe you so much, but
I regret more to owe myself;
must be unbearably sad

I know I owe you and you owe me
but I preffer the debt
long before the duty

What I do not tolerate is
the doubt -
the cowardice of the "would have"
what we would be
what we did not be
what we keep wanting to be

How unbearable is to carry corpses
believing that you can still bring them to life

It's enough; at the end
and if I'm not mistaken
I owe you a funeral,
I owe you a birthday
And maybe, a birth
And if I'm in the mood,
I owe you a "sorry".
(Spanish Translation)

Nos debemos a los primeros amores,
a los inolvidables "por siempre"
y a las mentiras fugaces que,
por lo menos, nos hacían felices

Nos debemos al óleo y al cuerpo
no al odio, mucho menos a otros
que no somos nosotros propios
Nos debemos esa felicidad
(por lo menos)

Y aunque lleguemos a no tener memoria
me recordaré (es promesa
o por lo menos eso pretendo)
Ya que la verdad olvido más rápido
que lo que siento; lo siento

Siento deberte tanto, pero más
deberme a mí mismo; ha de ser
insoportablemente triste

Sé que te debo y me debes
pero prefiero la deuda
mucho antes que el deber

Lo que no tolero es la duda -
lo cobarde del "hubiera"
lo que seríamos
lo que no fuimos
lo que nos quedamos queriendo

Qué insoportable cargar con cadáveres
creyendo que aún se pueden traer a la vida

Pero ya; a final de cuentas
y si no fallan los cálculos
te debo un funeral, un cumpleaños
y quizás un nacimiento
Y si me hallo de ánimos,
un "lo siento".
May 2017 · 134
Julian Revà May 2017
At the end we loved each other so much
we destroyed ourselves as it should
And between all those scattered pieces
maybe you tried to search for me
Or maybe you did not bother
However, I putted each piece together
It was a gruesome puzzle
to find my pieces between your pieces
And to miss you and do not say it
for being somewhere else
And when I finally had all the pieces
I let myself go with all my chaos away
Aside, so far from you and so close
to other lands
Because now I'm free, so far from that
wanting to t(d)ie
At the end we will be cowards but not at all
Because is brave not looking behind
even if we were falling apart
Spanish translation:


Al final nos amamos tanto que terminamos
destrozándonos como debería ser
Y entre todas esas piezas dispersas
intentaste quizás buscarme
O quizás no tuviste la molestia
Sin embargo, yo junté cada pieza
Fue un rompecabezas abominable
Hallar mis partes entre tus partes
Y extrañarte y no decírtelo por estar
en otra parte
Y cuando tuve al fin todas las partes
me dejé ir con mi caos a otro lado
Aparte, tan aparte de ti y tan cerca
de otros lares
Pues al fin soy libre, tan lejos de eso
que me (m)ate
Al final seremos cobardes, pero no tanto
Pues es de valientes no mirar atrás
aunque nos estemos cayendo a pedazos

— The End —