.Veinte para las doce y aún no sé,
si cada dia es un tren que no va a ningún lugar,
Tres, diez, quince, no importa,
hay quien aún no ve la primera luz,
y otros con más de 60 inviernos.
Sólo el firmamento, como techo,
y de almohada esta noche, el frÃo concreto...
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