For what saints and what Gods
Do the lambs pour forth their blood?
For which flowers with black lace petals
Do the sparrows cry with trembling voices?
For which dark late mornings
Flows the mist that swallows me?
Which quarter of purple tears
Deceives my grief, turning it into a sin?
The saints weep no more
And the color disappeared from my prayers.
The drought took over the earth
Making people think they're humans.
Our beloved kids grew teeth,
Bitting from ancestors and from us,
Bitting from the sky and from the earth,
Bitting even from the dead trying to rest.