normal, these strange beings,
Those who do not have a crazy mother, a drunken father, a delinquent son,
A house nowhere, an unknown disease,
Those who have not been burned by a devouring love,
The who lived seventeen of smiling faces and a little more,
's full of shoes, hats archangels,
Satisfied, fat, cute,
The rintintín and his minions, which of course, here,
The winners, those who are dear to the hilt,
The flute accompanied by mice,
sellers and buyers,
Knights slightly superhuman
Men dressed women thunder and lightning,
The delicate, sensible , fine,
The friendly, candy, groceries and beverages. Happy
birds, manure, stones.
But den step to making the worlds and dreams,
Illusions, symphonies, the words that tear us down
And we build, the more crazy than their mothers, the most drunken
their parents and their children more criminals
Y more consumed by scorching love.
Let them leave their room in hell, and enough. Roberto Fernandez Retamar
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