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no hay presa yo de pensamientos pobres
todavĂ­a recuerdo sin duda alguna
el cielo
puesto que he sentido el sentido de la muerte
aunque repine del amor, y rozadura de la razĂłn
arrojé mi alma al aire como un vuelo del halcón
éste es el arsenal
cuando la noche mandila a lo largo de las calles de la ciudad
todavĂ­a su gris oscila la torre sobre el mar
ponemos
usted está claro
he ganado la raza
y con el pájaro del tarareo

 



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