Born, Grow, Reproduce and Die
The resume is like that, When will we be born?
A product for consumption that ends because of the excess of the use and surying anywhere
Some are separate but when they're around the table, end up drunk by the wine of the arrogance, throwing up on the clothes and fall asleep on their own vomit
Take me out of this banquet of death
God take me out, take me to the limit of salvation
On this limit there is the crib of hope
Far away from the fake iron, the bronze and the fake silver
There is something born in the beginning that is disfigured but it is traced on details
Far away from the insanes, but able to put the end on it
The beginning of a renew where you can hear the first breathing from a just born child
