The graffiti-covered walls scream in silence that I don't believe it. Life is more in the past than in the present. What kind of future is this that I live in? I live in? While life plays with me, and when it loses and wins, and wins and loses, because that's how it is, sometimes we're so alike, "woman, behave, woman, behave," and I'm not proud of what I remember, better to forget. Not that anything has changed that much, if that even exists in a certain way, I'm afraid to say I've tried to make pacts and failed, I made such strange proposals that were ignored. Yes, my friend, I wanted friends like that, yes, maybe I wanted friends, we're in different times, I have no voice and I don't know how to shout, I knew how to dance, what a wretched past I had, I wasted my time. The gods don't want anything from us, there aren't enough bonfires, there aren't efficient bonfires, I'm so good at being bad, not so much... I'm not even good enough for myself, I just wanted to trade places with you. The gods are placebos, and belief is a naive deception, I cling to the mundane, it burns my whole being, including my veins.
