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No criticism starts one’s life;
suddenly,
all purposes seem to glide
towards the hills above
the boats that cannot escape
this private death.
Where were their bodies,
the bones flesh forgot?

Songs were shouted by ancient sailors,
they knew their fate all the time;
and still they kept on singing
as if lonely mermaids
couldn’t blindfold their empty,
so empty eyes…

(imagem retirada da net)