The dagger of harsh speech pierces the chest
Its shiny blade cuts deep and clouds the brain
The heart is pounding, cannot find its rest
Because is filled with sorrow and much pain.
Death doesn't come to take its gloomy toll,
Because the sap of life is very hot
And so, the wounded plays his sour role
As if he were content, but he is not.
The body's healthy and the arm is strong
The face is proud, the smile impresses all,
But in his life, a lot of things are wrong,
That's why beneath the glaze is bitter gall.
The wound of flesh needs medicines and care
The wound of soul wants love from everywhere.