Pains
Rinsing my sins with the pains
That so much carries vacant and saddened fact
Would no longer be so satisfied
The world made of crude, vague tear,
And so many times trace in atrocious tone
The table had woven gentleness
If I want to love and the same to damnation
This is where the voice becomes steady,
Auguries from dreams, vile path,
Review customary, and the journeys
Really among so many ill-fated,
Thus maybe make me happier.
Repairing the shadow excuses from the mist,
And all that vain expectancy fades away ...
Loures
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