Wounds that no longer cry,
that they do not cure,
that they do not improve…

Wounds of the heart,
of childhood dreams,
of dark streets, and no voice…

Who will heal those wounds?
Tender hands,
some cold hands…

Who will cover them with love?
Close arms,
some arms without rancor…

We all carry wounds,
ones, more open,
others, full of fear…

Wounds that you never will see cry,
because you only deserve
my bitter and firm goodbye…