(versão inglesa IA de O projeto falhado de Deus)
There are days of cavernous bleakness
Skin wrinkles under a death-rattle of cold
A white mantle covers the streets
Or the heavy rain washing the windowpanes
Reminds one of helplessness
The fragility of wounded innocents
The vile blow they do not understand
And from which they cannot deviate
They only want the father, the mother, the routine
Something that sounds familiar
And reminds them of caresses
Of the safe harbor that was home
They suffer abandonment and solitude
The betrayal that comes from the hand
That should have provided shelter
Ignominy opens irreconcilable craters
Brutality is always sordid
It fixes itself, grimy, upon the skin
It is deaf.
It is cowardly.
It is petty.
It is aviling.
Never ask the scoundrel if he wants to be good.
Man — God’s failed project!
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