Testo An Old Black Cage

Enclosed in an old black cage suspended
In the middle of a sterile mind,
Far and distorted, thousands, one on top on the other,
We are (slowly) suffering under the weight of our fellow beings.

Wet from the never-ending rain of lies from him,
Whom from time immemorial has promised;
On the iron, the rust of our tears is mixed
With the bitter-sweet and dark blood.
In the darkness, the strong wind of hope is mistaken
For the sighs of him
Who is closer to us,