Postal de Guerra

A tissue paper
Floats in the smoke
Carried by the current
Bridge spilled over
Tears

The afternoon leans
Gunpowder and mist
Ashes rain down
Silently
Tears

Oh! When will they return
The flower to the branch
And the smell of bread
Tears, tears, tears

Burnt trees
Pale rags
Shipwreck in the puddle
A sandal sinks
Tears

Ghostly steps
Fleeing in pieces
Shadows and reeds
A bunch of mothers
Tears

Oh! When will they return
The flower to the branch
And the smell of bread
Tears, tears, tears