Es el momento de estar allá
Con un mapamundi de incertidumbres
Colmado de una miel ancestral
Que no sabe a dónde va
Galopamos sobre un cielo ensangrentado
Con el puñal de la envidia
El ocaso respira boca abajo
Tal vez el mundo gira soportando un bajel
Sobre los hombros descansa mi espíritu
Una mesa coloreada y desgastada
Adorna el horizonte cargado de fabulas.
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