Oh, sweet Mercy, why don’t you come for me that I have such shame in the open air, that your kiss would be benevolence. Because I’m not of those that have love, but of those that are beggars and pitiful with it, and I am of those that call and give opportunities that turn them into a rock in their shoe. 

And not even I would love me if I were a reflection, because Mercy I beg you to your holy life, that you give me the salvation of being able to play the card of amnesia with every time I excused a lousy action with holes for fabric. 

And it’s that I am, I am, I am all that I prohibited myself to be in my youth, and now I’m pitiful, now euthanasia should give me its tears and sadness give me its job. 

Because in truth, Mercy, I’m on my knees asking for clemency, because my Diosito I am a cheeky one with shameless that should stop throwing myself to the ground, but I was always so reckless for love that I gave up the one that should have been mine. 

TA.