The autopsy is on the body, not the killer ..!
In the same body, in the same soul,
How many times have I been killed,
I was born in a middle class coffin,
Society has given the shroud,
In the thousands of silenced lips,
Ah, you came too late,
In the mortuary,
Says the autopsy will investigate,
Look around, look around,
Look at the rotten flesh or
The decaying bones of the pastor,
Look at those stains,
Wounds of carelessness of time,
Yet witnesses,
Your evolution ...!
Maybe one morning,
Blurred eyes, windows in the sun,
Will find the news of the dead,
In the coffin of the middle class,
In the social shroud,
Lips pressed, tired crazy,
Before burial, however,
Look again, in the mortuary,
If the black spots of carelessness match,
Understand that I was,
Understand that I was only yours ..
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