Theater is for people with the devil in their eyes

And if they can turn into angels, all the better for business

An actor is an ingredient drained to make a potion

Laureated for their performance

Beautiful innocence and filthy violence fall in love without touching

Now, they must pretend to die

I am missing my protector

The one who keeps my mouth shut and neatly lines up all the bones

It makes people think it happened naturally

I wear a muzzle at night

I bite harder now

O filme é a mentira bem feita, longe de ser perfeita, mas fantástica.

Não pulo cena nenhuma e sempre volto pra rever.

A encenação é a única falsidade agradável.

Faço questão de acreditar.

Raramente dói.

Being direct doesn’t work

If I want to know more, I have to use artifice

Showing teeth is not necessarily a sign of happiness, but a trained response

To get more from someone

To keep things to yourself

Frowning is frowned upon

Disapproval is frequent, but even it should not be expressed too strongly

It is expressly forbidden to truly express

The face should be as is

A hologram cannot be touched

There is no death, a life in waiting
A cross to bear and carry out
Gone is the time for celebrating
A loss to bear, you’ll do without

There is no death but sacrifice
A bleeding that will not relent
A decade, it will not suffice
A punishment for time well spent

There is no death, you’ll live again
To know your place as it was given
And to be humbled as a man
To ask if you may be forgiven

There is no death, only a sentence
With which she will pursue her vengeance

(Escrito em 19.06.23)

Angels without their wings are indistinguishable from humans.

Though they prime each other before descending, sometimes they are primitive.

Falling nimbly in their four limbs, they take refuge in inconspicuous cracks, the spaces between the leaves where the sun seeps in.

They rummage through the wardrobe of the world for clothing to disappear under.

After foraging, a few of them sleep while the others keep watch.

Awake at unusual times to circumvent surveillance, their swift, soft steps can hardly be heard.

They finally reach the top of the mountain, fingertips numb from the climb.

They like to rest in high places.

Out of habit, angels without their wings jump.

Venha me ver no cemitério
A ocasião, a seu critério
Sinta o cheiro que a carne exala

Te direi o sabor da bala:
Tem gosto de prata
Do tipo que mata

O lendário algoz se perde na teia da aranha
Se torna um souvenir de couro
Extirpado dessa espécie estranha
Debaixo da terra não há ouro

Arrancados os pelos, os indícios de selvagem
Retornei à forma humana antes da última viagem
Aconteceu à força, eu não tive a intenção
Preferia me manter imortal na involução

Venha ao meu descanso final
Pise sobre a terra sem resguardo
Mergulhe no limbo em que danço
O céu dirá que eu te aguardo

Saiba que será fatal

Ver as estrelas de perto, no espaço

Contar os anéis de Saturno

Sentir a textura das Luas

Se a Terra é um tédio, desça ao fundo do oceano

visite as filhas de Netuno

Na volta, aprecie o seu lugar

No ponto cego entre tudo

Sinto vontade de consumir luzes

Absorver a força ininterrupta

Funcionar sem motivo maior