If a moonlight night you feel uneasy
and crawl through the streets like a crocodile
in search of another body that live,
if you take home, if you're invited to sleep, care
comrade, a missile may have under the pillow.
If you can not find anyone in the entire city
and looking for a cure for your loneliness, if you save with alcohol
darkest hours
of these bad times, perhaps while trying
out of sadness, floating is a missile in your beer. If
manage to overcome the hangover and waking and wearing dark circles
sole standard, if the voice
tame time or routine today
tells you you ought to return to the office
gloomy, downcast, you wait for a missile in your work. Missile
in jail, missile slums,
missile palace between the barricades
point with minutes servile watches
marking the fierce schedule of missiles
or much easier: there may be a missile in your pocket.
Because sometimes the air is gunpowder, dreams become cloudy
nightmare bullets
memorize your destination and your destination
body goes in search of bullet.
Stand for peace, I go back, back to words you
to old comrades of the world.
Luis García Montero
Lorena Juan Luis Pineda
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