Tired of exhibitionism,
nostalgia for an eternal
herd of thoughts -
moves for the real intent
the intensive thirst for unknown.

The lie stamps the vanity on a pseudo book.
Everything turns in a rage,
and pain strips to bone.

Dressed in his gaudy fame,
great idol lifts the arm.
Must I become a part of this motley crowd?

The return is difficult
for the disowned faith.
Great hips, broad shoulders and pointed nose
reach nowhere.

Beneath the disillusion lie the shades
of hope and banality,
to choose a tomorrow
which will never arrive.