I have a salty bird; it never tires of trying to fly because it has been without wings since its birth. It is antique, deep and subtle, and in the afternoon, it knocks on the windows of the village as if it were an old tale. You know that I'm not a rebellious man and I always try to walk beside the wall but my bird has a zealous spirit and soon fades in the love of freedom. How I wish I were like my bird; something yearns for fade in the truth.