An Old Black Cage

Enclosed in an old black cage suspendedIn the middle of a sterile mind,Far and distorted, thousands, one on top on the other,We are (slowly) suffering under the weight of our fellow beings.Wet from the never-ending rain of lies from him,Whom from time immemorial has promised;On the iron, the rust of our tears is mixedWith the bitter-sweet and dark blood.In the darkness, the strong wind of hope is mistakenFor the sighs of himWho is closer to us,An Old Black CageIn which iron screeches on the bones, [x2]The cage moves by the smallest contractions (of the muscles),While the bodies are mingled with their own painAnd in the bliss of thoseWho are finally getting closer to the truthAnd by freeing a space give yet another breath,Falling in the deep pit of knowledge.After every instant, he goesBack to the starting point,Trying to perceive his destiny,Imploring hope to show,Through the old bars of a tired world,The universal focal point (to which everyone is hanging).The eyes are raised once againTo look for the end of the thick ropeWhich sold its origins to credulity and submission.An old black cage in which iron screeches on the bones,Those who try to run awayBetween the bars are crushed like foodBetween the jaws of a beast