Its time, its time to go, its time to leave, its time to pass you, its not time to be born again, its time to die again, its too
late to say, this last word is not the last time to cry, the last moments with the affection of the enemy, for the nostalgia of my comrade in the face of hatred , my most silent drown, I am a doll, which game of horror, I am the voice of famine, which is like the birth of a catastrophe, I am cold, like an accident, I do not have peace, cold and simple, and My old mirror is broken, I am with lamps and flowers, I am a stranger to the dust, I stay under the stone onslaught of rubble, resentment for not being a plaything , this is the last game.
