Tired of exhibitionism,
nostalgia for an eternal herd of thoughts -
moves for the real intent the intensive thirst for unknown.
The lie stamps the vanity on a pseudo book.
Everything turns in a rage, and pain strips to bone.
Dressed in his gaudy fame, great idol lifts the arm.
Must I become a part of this motley crowd?
The return is difficult for the disowned faith.
Great hips, broad shoulders and pointed nose reach nowhere.
Beneath the disillusion lie the shades of hope and banality,
to choose a tomorrow which will never arrive.
