Cançó Per A En Joan Salvat-Papasseit

I am not modest. I am in love with these small eyes of mine because they gaze into the distance and with my forehead so high from thinking so much. I don't want to thank anyone, because I have not had a master. I don't promise anything. I just walk (dipping the pen in the heart, where the tool must be dipped...) I don't know what I aim for, because having a purpose is not work. I no longer want to enlist under any flag. Of the divine ACRÀCIA, I will now be the glossator, of the impossible ACRÀCIA in the lives of men who do not desire a better era. And what they think of me, I don't care at all, I don't care at all, I don't care at all... He entered the world through the back door. Emptying his trunk, and a piece on his backside... It was a paper trunk that filled time, women and the port, love and death. It was a trunk that was slowly tidied up and became a verse with each memory... For him, the doll put on the clothes from when she was a virgin, and the seagulls flew with Sunday feathers... Yes... For him, the ships blew once, twice, and three times, and he loved a couple on any corner... Yes... For him, the cats meowed at the moon, on the rooftops... Yes... For him, the promises and carnations opened up in red... Yes... For a man with a thin greenish face, with moist lips and very long fingers to better taste women. And he was not modest. And he was in love with his little eyes, which gazed into the distance and his forehead so high from how much he thought. And he did not thank anyone who did not teach him anything. And what you think of this... I don't care at all, I don't care at all, I don't care at all...