Blame

 

 

 

Two roads in a Yellow wood,

I have never decided, as I should

Many roads as a man drive by

Nothing palpable staying behind.

 

Too many nights with a rat in my stomach

Too many days with the hands trembling away

The love I feel for the sea

Is similar of what I see in thee.

 

The destiny or origin of my daughters

Remains uncertain, they abandoned me.

Two little boys seem to me mine

And I, incapable of treating them well

 

Keep walking and thinking while all falls down to pieces of glass

Moreover, the cold river is calling me, calling me again as guest

 

One day I should fall by the normality of facts,

In front or backwards, to the side or losing the inside.

One rise and another fall, one breath another expire.

 

Tragedy does not arise from a yellow road,

Tragedy is the work of that fate we use to make.

Work brings people closer to heaven,

Closer to someone someone should be,

Nevertheless blamelessness is not the case of me.