.Las horas del reloj,
no dejan de ir pasando.
Las esquinas de este techo, sobre mÃ.
Postura no acertada,
ideas bloqueadas,
esperando el gran sueño de dormir.
Oscuro cielo incierto,
dando vueltas a un desierto,
las notas del silencio saldrán.
La música fluyendo,
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