.La casa esta vacÃa
de cosas tuyas,
de cosas mÃas.
El cuerpo no me pertenece,
es del paisaje,
es de la gente.
Mi hijo es de un lugar enorme,
y yo le miento.
Mi hijo es de un lugar enorme,
y llora lento.
Acostumbrado a morir.
Las luces de un momento inten.
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