In the loneliness of a gloomy night,

men and women sit by themselves.

They are close, but they don’t talk

darkened in their souls

wicked in their mind.


Not even the spiritous inebriation

relieves those hearts full of pain

from their fear of the mishmash of the world.


The nighthawks wander fearful

walking up and down

they pass by the life,

they would like to hold on to it,

they howl busting into tears of despair.


But the harshness of the human nature

can’t stand their whimsy,

and flush them in the non-existence.