La Utopía Del Niño de Bronce

How much eagerness the buried glory feels in a sack
The same was for the sun that soon darkened it.

That island which is the soul is impossible to penetrate
The body also felt that way, not responding

Stretch, reach, embrace facing childbirth
Of a hurricane that destroys, exhausts, stirs up an illusion

How much strength the cold drags when it runs wild
Its flow fell the same way as the pain to the bottom, and never warned

Stretch...