There was a day
in which I chose
dying alone.
No stories
to tell
or passions
to recall.

But then I remembered
who like man
I lived nothing worthy.
Now I ask:
why to die?

They charged me so much
of little I had,
that I was forced to sell
my own happiness
to get peace.

There was another day
in which I preferred
to become a runaway
to live sad.
I'd be chased,
however, I'd be happy
with my soul.

It's well-known
which mediocre smile
of any man
can't be replaced
by all this world's wealth.

Unless it is natural beauty,
it's not worthy to admire
the colors of the ascent.

But there was a third day
in which I rendered
to the bitter of the future...
without asking why.