When I was born I was in the summer, the ant and the man was shattered homes. Stones, hands, and loves goods lost or deleted from a devastating war that blacks, rich, priests, and then red and then all of them, had turned and propagated.
When I was born I had the words written on the faces of education in the job on his hands slapped. The experience was engraved in the wrinkles of the face and the rush in the pedals of the bicycle.
The hunger was like an old coat of arms, hidden but evident. The duty to be, was nailed in the state of the tasks, duties and liabilities. The breath was caught in the effort and cut by the smoke, love was brutal and the bellies of women baskets pitiful.
The belief was in the Lord, in the rich, the Devil and the Saints, and all of them were afraid, everyone. The pockets of change and played a courtesy, and other shoes were patched up and down. The clothes were a gift, used and turned over and the bread was a stocky, fresh or dried never a crumb on the ground.
noise trades was also beautiful, musical, stimulating, even smelling, and each workshop ladled her.
When I was born ... I
Leo Farinelli
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