I know the power of words,
I know the tocsin of words.
They are not those that make theater boxes applaud.
Words like that make coffins break out
Make them pace with their four oak legs.
It happens they are thrown out,
Not printed, not published.
But the word gallops, its saddle girth tightened,
It rings through the ages and trains creep nearer
To lick... poetry's toil-hardened hands.
1 | Hijo de la Luna (Сын луны) |
2 | Hijo De La Luna |
3 | El 7 De Septiembre |
4 | La Fuerza Del Destino |
5 | Un Año Más |
6 | Naturaleza Muerta |
7 | Una Rosa Es Una Rosa |
8 | Me Colé En Una Fiesta |
9 | Dalai Lama |
10 | Los Amante |