(N.Cuerda/F.Amador)
The bus is waiting
for the routine of fear
it is saturated with cigarette butts
painted with charcoal.
When you return to that gray background
where the moon says goodbye
time becomes art
of mud, of sweat.
A bus that will take away
a thousand memories without courage
oh, courage...
The bus is waiting
while they varnish the work
withered black eyes
profession myths.
A bus that abandons your flesh
a bus that will never have
black adventures, your obsession.

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