The end
You will go through the echo of the eternal abyss
Which separates one thought from another,
Getting further from
The brief and intuitive path

Which unites every act to it's mental
Origins, so that you will find yourselves

In a desert of inert materials and a crowd of insensible and cold bodies
You will be
The nucleus of a sick cell

You will warn the heavy and wearing decadence
Which will erode any innocent

The murmurs of thousands of innocents,
The whisper of looks which are less attentive,
Will give life,
With every blink of the eye,
To a new crossroad
Where the same old man will bow his head with pride,
Inviting you to visit the nomadic museum
Of equilibrium

The sphere of doubt rolls along a steep slope and the sick paws of a dirty pig,
Which by now is reconciled with destiny, glide

The youngest beings choke, so that the divine germ
Cannot devour tomorrow