(Eng.)

- La Playa de los Muertos -
(The Beach of the Dead)

The only law I respect is that of the revolver, of the fire and the ashes.
I walk through a hollow world where servitude is the aristocracy. I'm heading towards the end of time where men's toast and women's jam are the breakfast of the Grey Gods.

I pay tribute. I offer sacrifice. My left hand and its lying path it's cut by the axe's edge. It hurts me. But I endure the pain. I light up the bonfire. I entrust bones of ancient warriors. The flames are my book, my devotion.

I take my seat on the sand to contemplate how the sun becomes an egg
one with rubicund breasts that offer the glory of milk, always denied, always cornered.

I met a lot of widows along the road. They all wore mourning. They carried their husbands' open corpses on their backs. The smell
was unbearable. I threw up when I saw them. One of them felt pity on me. She licked my eyes with her dirty tongue. I ran away.

They were left behind. The ones in black. The ones who will always cry.

They tied me to the memories of my mother. I was subjected to images of husbands of mud with steel fists. Grandmothers who did not love
their grandchildren but devoured them on New Year's Eve.
They left me locked up for a thousand days, confined with my mother. Her hells were mine. Never ever a paradise. Not even a small one
to carry in the pocket. Never.

He knelt down to receive from the Grey Gods a forbidden kiss. They made deep cuts in his arms. In those wounds they introduced chains
and many rusty coins. They sewed the cuts and gave him a new name: Al Ger Non.

They sent him far away to combat against dangerous enemies that put on edge homeland and religion. But he never came back. There were rumours that Al Ger Non would have fallen in love with an important adversary’s daughter. it wasn't possible to verify it because nobody wanted to go to the land of the enemies. Everything was terrible there. Better to forget to be forgotten.

All the monsters were confined to a crystal box. No one could
touch it. Only the high priest who had four heads and a mouse's tail.
He could manipulate the monsters locked up extract information
from them and weave a grimoire of cloth a magic garment that will wear that chosen one to kill the Grey Gods. Thus it was heard. Thus it will be repeated for generations.

My sword is soft. My words are too. I was a poet. Now I'm a decrepit thing that crawls on rough walls. They spit on me. They mock my soft sword. They say I don't fight anymore because I lack courage.
Come on! Dare to touch a single hair of my prehistoric beard and my sword will be stiff again. I'll cut you into slices. Come on!

The black angel had white wings and red hands with which he made
weapons for us. The world could be something better but it didn't want to be it. On the other hand, chaos and its daughters were sweeter.

We use the black angel’s weapons to attack our friends. We fooled them. We offered promises impossible to be fulfilled. And they believed us. We paint our hands red such like the black angel and
we pull the triggers. All gunpowder of the universe destroyed the universe and almost straight away, it created another.

There was not black angel nor room for any religion. Only survival of the most fragile.

The victory of defeat. Human leaf trees screaming all night which it was day. Caressed by the cut cheek that bleeds lucidity. We were defeated
in our success. We murdered the king and enthroned the queen.
We murdered the queen and enthroned the beggar. His orders were curious: to turn the air into earth; that dogs were cats; that women were men; that all life should resemble death.

The beggar king, wise, madman, hermit, cherished, hated, acclaimed, trampled. No book recorded his reign but some of us still remember him. He lives in our icy heart.

We catch all the idiots. We gut them and simmered them. How tasty
is the meat of an idiot! Exalt! Extol!

Contrary to what old ladies think, eating meat of idiot it doesn't make you one of them. It immunises you against them.

The snakes got tired and stood up. They looked at the Grey Gods. They insulted them. They promised revenge and many other calamities.
Then they built skeletal-boats. They furrowed the firmament intending to find the sacred abode. But their mission failed.

Grey fire fell on them. The dust of the martyrs descended onto Earth
and formed a lake. There is where the desperate go to beg.
But no one answers to them.

Behind the kiss there was a betrayal. Cold lips almost of dead. She
embraced me and stabbed me with a knife so long and sharp that my whole body got mashed.

The face of the Earth is also the face of an unnamed tomb.
There we will go to rest in looking for our blood candies.