The fragile see swinging
A liana, ending among the veil of clouds
It was reminiscent of the beanstalk plant
But it retained the ruins of an abandoned castle

It's a game or a save
Soon they saw it clearly

He is a man of medium height
Which manages to be a plant but also an animal
he is his world and that of others, he is whatever the mind tells him to be

The condition of the fragile is sad,
that for lack of creativity and inspiration,
never manage to change the appearance


As well as young rampant people
who do not want to feel the weight of fragility
They jump, holding on tightly to the liana
To the commuter man

It's a ***** job to be the teller of brutal fairy tales
But somehow the man has to entertain the hearts of the fragile
Prepare them for impact, they would not always remain hanging
They would not always remain floating travelers of nowhere
And their hearts would not always have absorbed everything bad in the world

How many fragile lives he sees clinging to his stem
There are sad eyes looking at him from below
And he looks at them from above and understands
that his virtue has become a cross, a universal pain
The eyes of others have become his
And the sweetness with which he cradled and carried the weight of others
All he did was lead the fragile to love him in all the guises he wanted to choose