Yes, ..... it's technically perfect, it isn't strange that nobody gets hurt;
monuments from ancient cultures, marble and neon shops and temples.
Fat women lying obscene, and fat men looking for restaurants;
opposite the bazaar there is a raffle and only unlucky people are interested.
In the uncertain twilight, damp, heavy twilight,
it's raining and sweet tears are falling from an ugly leaden sky turned upside down.

I seem to remember that I love you, but I can't be sure;
there are words that come out of mouths and useless desires exaggerating the pain.

There are mountains with not very serious names and princesses called Dolors;
there are memories just as sweet as they are useless and the sad trace of digital goodbyes.
In the peace of a night without rain, in the peace of a night without peace;
in the well of a boring peace, the light of life is switched off by death.

Yes, .... it's technically perfect, it isn't strange that nobody gets hurt;
minute pieces of a game that a shameless God left abandoned.
It would be too easy to forget it, it would also be interesting;
devoting yourself to work and sharpening the tools, getting paid every month.