Human Mad

 Makes wasted time productive

Lies seem true

Philosophy seem wrong

Wrong fate a certainty

Rivers of money

Back that weigh down before such immensity...

of this opaque, decrepit stage of our stupidity

We keep carrying unnecessary excesses

Rituals of false emotions

of technocratic sterility

The poet promised freedom

But it only exists in his verses of hope and disillusionment...

There is still joy to fill the void that is being human

This scar that never heals

This shadow that always borders our paths

That reveals itself in the deepest reflections...