I live in darkness,
in the hollow burrow.
The nakedness of life brewed my anger,
Oh how vivid the acnes of the callow!
At night the oil lamp emits
dim light that pierces like an arrow,
tells of stories of adolescence,
dreamy, courageous, and brutal;
Listening to the radio
screeching voices of well-dressed stars,
my companion, of the poor and the low,
hymms a psalm of becoming a wealthy hero.
"Come, sing with me,"
he says, "may the rich lose tomorrow,
may they suffer our toil."
He offered me a brew,
I drank, and tasted its gloom.
Together we sat in solitude
as the world shrunk into a room,
then silently the light faded
in this little tomb.
And we shall sleep with heavy thoughts
on the unfairness of those with great heirloom.
But may morning come, may we tire
of the game to win or lose,
May we be forgetful of childish wishes,
may we outlive the thorns of youth.
--
Real Madrid
- the one & only football elixir.
--
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