We are a clan of stoic beings
Even our tears glow of mercury
A wolf runs in our screams
Stone lips and hearts

Only she truly feels
She is the tree rustling like the rain
The river alone like an orphan
Cut with our machetes,
Bruised with our footsteps

She falls into a coma
White, bitter, deathlike

Until we resurrect her as if our saviour
With slaughtering hands

Hands that end in the wrong places
In her violet lips, mountain breasts

She walks toward death, with narcotics
Of sodium and sulphur

Only her soul the sun,
Our hands will never feel