
The coffin promoted the deceased imbecile funeral 
Of the destructor of nations and populations 
and skilled merchant of weapons 
He deceived us in this world, he won't deceive in the other 
The funeral was accompanied by the crowd 
of flatterers 
And half dozen of noblemen that with him a lot they profited 
Following by their flunkies as in a pharaoh 
The illiterates continued, they followed him as a god 
Believing in the hope of the changes 
Of the new lives that he a lot had promised 
  Further on it followed another funereal procession. The one of a Man 
whose occupation was to give life, to democratize, to teach 
They accompanied him thousands of people 
the one that knew pick his wisdom 
For here already nobody league the those things 
They lost those teachings 
  However, in the beach, the seagull believed that she was alone 
As if the sea and the dictators didn't exist 
She approached confident and she came across 
with a despicable ruler. Suddenly she remembered 
she gave déjà-vu 
She forgot the shellfish and she flew for a lot of miles 
She left me to grieve. Before the vile banks 
corrupt there they be, her already there had been 
  The illusion of the love is the loved person's slavery 
There, we never obtain what desired 
In that complex dimension 
It is a dead end that begins in the words 
and they join in the time when he begins the counting 
you gave moments that seem endless 
  In very distant times that of the love didn't exist 
somebody invented him 
As any invention the speculators vulgarized him 
And it is bought, he sells himself, it is resold 
in any place of a withered street, it embitters, nude 
  Another love that walks exists has been losing a lot 
Pure, innocent, difficult to find 
It is not bought, he doesn't sell himself, it is conquered 
How many, so many of those lost loves 
without days, in the nights 
Made machines generating metallic children 
He abandoned his origin, he got lost in the official mazes 
artificial of our presidential ordinances 
  The wind seemed cold 
he devastated the afternoon sent by the cold current 
of Olympic Benguela 
Alienated, already very deflowered, young with and less than fourteen years 
of youth, they are attracted by the miseries dollars of the monetary sex 
of these upstarts 
For they dress and they eat 
They hovered as sparrows in search of the newly born children 
  The children danced in the sand of the garbage 
The tree contemplated them, it accompanied them 
she moved them, it sheltered them 
The bulky foot screeched, smile before so much childishness 
Van-Gogh he painted this unhappiness in the garbage of the sand 
  Reason the idiots insist on the power how emperors? 
Because they are as the camera of filming, it captures, but he doesn't read 
To paint is to free, to democratize what nobody sees 
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