The Red NoseFirst Act (The Last Call) Metal/Hardcore

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First act (The last call) So here it is… the clay turns into bones, skin and soul, pavement precociousness, the one that will never exist, nothing reveals his impassive face of love and hatred, his breathe removes the mud and lodges his face, his exquisite disguise is covered with filthiness he tries to get over that puddle observes the sores on his hands, grasps his fists and licks wine left overs that slips of his fingers, it would be a huge mistake to spill it, to intoxicate the beast, feels the fuel flowing to the soles of his feet reviving his organism as a machinery, his heart like a dead man - buried – pumps oil to the rest of his mesh, his lungs are furnaces where dreams there are calcined that feed his brain, Its possible to smell the dampness of that street, the acid rain and frost of the wind, loneliness in the middle of black ruins, is the light at the end of the way in the darkness, the shout of the machines, the wind inhales his last span of life, listen his weeping, his last lament, crosses the streets between loneliness and misery … it follows him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Primer acto (La ultima llamada) He ahí, la arcilla se vuelve huesos, carne y alma, precocidad del pavimento, aquello que nunca existirá, nada revela su rostro impasible de amor y odio, su respirar remueve el lodo y se incrusta en su cara, de inmundicia está cubierto su atuendo exquisito, intenta levantarse de aquel charco, observa en sus manos las llagas, aferra los puños y lame el resto de vino que escurre de entre sus dedos, seria un error derramarlo, embriagar a la bestia, siente fluir combustible entre los dedos de sus pies descalzos reanimando su organismo como una maquinaria, su corazón como un muerto -enterrado- bombea aceite al resto de sus engranes, sus pulmones son chimeneas donde se calcinan sueños que alimentan su cerebro, es huesos y carne de deseo, la carne cubre al hueso pero la carne busca algo mas que carne, se puede oler la humedad de aquella calle, la lluvia ácida y escarcha del viento, la soledad en medio de las negras ruinas, es la luz al final del camino en la oscuridad, lo recorre a tientas, aun sus ojos no pueden observar, es el grito de las maquinas, el viento inhala su el ultimo palmo de vida, se escucha su llanto, su último lamento, recorre las calles entre la soledad y la miseria… lo sigue. x