Meursault
All creatures will make merry
So long ago that I'm not even sureif the eyes that the eyes that meet me in my sleepare yours at allor a mirror of my own.You were there in the crowdwhen they tore you to the groundand through your flesh and bone they did marchclaiming all as their own, leaving nothing for yourself.We burned those wolves last nightand their remain to remindthat in museums made of these flameswe were born, we will grow and we will die.
From Letras Mania