.Veinte para las doce y aun no s,
Si cada dia es un tren que no va a ningun lugar,
Tres, diez, quince, no importa,
Hay quien aun no ve la primera luz,
Y otros con mas de 60 inviernos.
Slo el firmamento, como techo,
Y de almohada esta noche, el frio concreto...
Al tirar los.
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