Under the sky every night, comes the man messed:
He is strong, it is high, it opens the door and laying in bed.
He is frail, hunched, head in hands,
Man, oak, was bruised all over.
Liabilities, he brutalizes his mind in the spleen:
He drinks hard work, it withers his misery stealthily
Sprawled on the sofa, his eyes fix empty nothingness.
He fights against his inertia, a castrating har!
If the day before his heart beat with joy,
It's time for a song, a walk happy,
In the complicity of jubilant smiles of friends.
And tomorrow it will begin a tune without being lonely!
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