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Sangre
...Cursed be the man; cursed till the end of times at our eyes.
His constant pressure has cornered and massacred us; and we were reduced to the deepest of the mountains' forests.
Damned be the human, because he turned our home into hate...
Because he gave us his rancour. We'll give him his fear; in the icy winter nights.
Till the end of times...
["...In the profound, oxygenated nights of January; when the moon gets stuck onto the thin ice that covers the pines, if a man gets lonely an' lost in the hills -that can happen-, the wolves smell him.
Someone told me once that if the man cops suddenly with the lonely wolf, can't stop looking him in the eye, until get virtually paralyzed and numb...
As it seems there is something enigmatic in those eyes. Something luciferine and tender, ferociuous and magnetic at once.
...But the frontiers that separate both worlds -human and animal-, never will be surpassed..."]
...There is an arcane in all this, something significant beats underneath.
Sangre.
But here, the story gets broken and the bottom can't be seen... |
