Born, Grow, Reproduce and Die The resume is like that, When will we be born? A product for consumption that ends because of the excess of the use and surying anywhere Some are separate but when they're around the table, end up drunk by the wine of the arrogance, throwing up on the clothes and fall asleep on their own vomit Take me out of this banquet of death God take me out, take me to the limit of salvation On this limit there is the crib of hope Far away from the fake iron, the bronze and the fake silver There is something born in the beginning that is disfigured but it is traced on details Far away from the insanes, but able to put the end on it The beginning of a renew where you can hear the first breathing from a just born child
