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This is the first of the last four men. Find water, not to die of thirst
has no feelings, is a superb. It will dry and left to dry the flower.
Their teeth and nails are rotting, worms gnaw his entrails.
His desolate soul can not be squeezed.
The second man has no conscience, no hope or rebellion, is abroad.
He says: Is our suffering is not only pain
to hear my sobs moo the burning in the open.
Darkness dead today not only in his mind,
read and heard sounds letters cuendo he is only the insane.
Die of madness, is only it harbors no solitude.
The third of the men to eat. Enjoy the sea, listening to children laughing,
was young and beautiful. He destroyed, tortured and ate, and there
is no human not be cannibalistic.
He ate animals that were slaughtered today he will be food.
Not even the most conspicuous courage overcomes the impassive nature.
This is the last man not think of mind.
He knew the trees, water, valleys. He has risen from his coffin to agonize in
repentance. He had the capacity to love
but did not know what was natural, dropped will fall as trees,
no longer has the capacity to mourn, you can not drink her tears,
eat their feces and fight to death to avoid theft of your urine.
The silent death is good the shadows of oblivion caress my being
like the smell of death is beyond the penalty
as he is, death is not, as death is, it is no longer
(Brothers of the eternal silence nihilists without knowing the constant apathy
the city around them laughs or sings while bellowing monstrously
full of pleasure, and more foolish than they ask
What to look up the blind rising over the sea like a black rock
why you, you said, this strange sadness what are you now serves transitional matters
no never have known who mourn the dead and the worm will gnaw your skin like a remorse.
No suit, foreign twist to its extraordinary beauty
clouding anything perfect clarity however, mess destroy rivers and bush fires
when the rock press your chest and your flanks lazy taming a soft indolence
when your heart is a stone and say that life does not want to die
or run your feet dry after no luck. That day will only be lyrical melancholy
nor beast, nor aroyuelos or forests and greenery from amniotic fluid to the seminal
life ends, it ends the breeding the sun still shining against this rot
for cooking, returning to nature céntumplo footprint of our hunger ridiculous