No more than so many eyes and promises
Nor is the as I could and would not have
Drifting on how much would remain
And another time you return on this
The fights between mistakes to me confess
And I know how much is left in heresy,
The knife in the neck, the cold night,
The verse where he vainly try, stumble.
Result of this pardon in tinsel
And no doubt when I walk in the late
Those fragile expectations bridge said,
In the deception enabling any error,
Just waiting for my funeral
While any death, I know you go along.