When the tear slides all over the skin,
When the drops form a river of suffering,
And the face begins to fall in pieces like dry and stink scraps.
Already rotten and torn, that by just touching their bodies,
They disappear in the splendor river.
The whole decrepit and buried planet,
Already abandoned in the tombs under the river
With signs and aqueous skulls.
War laments, dying laments,
Internal hate, are like the same
Evilness hammering the weak people's brain.
Beings regretting their decrepitude,
Tied to the hole of nothingness
Dead and absorbed by the desertion of themselves
Without wanting for it but it's too late
To regret in our unexistence.
River of the decrepit lament.

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