At the dawn of silenced poisons
we wake up as serpents

We wake up as stones,
stubborn roots
fleshless thirst, mineral lips...

Under this light of frozen lamentation
the henequen, motionless and furious
in its green forefingers
turns visible that which stirs us
the silenced rage that devours us...

Magical money!
It rises up on the bones,
on the bones of men it rises up.

You pass like a flower through this sterile hell,
formed only of shackled time,
mechanical running, empty wheel
that squeezes us out and leaves us empty
and dries up our blood,
and the place of tears is killing us.

Because money is infinite and creates infinite deserts...