The muse,
Redundant misfortunes
And born of all cunning,
Bloody pleasures.
So I forgive
Especially since I am being entreated
And my contempt I command
Towards the troughs of oblivion
When the punishment is due
Is of incomparable malice
Exercised with bare hands
In spite of the torments
Goodness is only her motto
And the flesh that money
According to the vicious
Tormented Souls
Rocked by the tragic
These girls and boys
From an archaic bullshit,
In the age of their time .
