Hot. I like the heat, I grew up in the heat. Wet, yes, but hot water, and cicadas smiles ... beautiful women in the summer. Yes I like it hot, walk with my love and my baby, the last born of three, a breath, gets up a little 'dust uh uh ... Oh no, I'm awake again, it's so nice to dream Instead, I woke up, dirty, filthy and sweaty.
This tent is a gas chamber, the smell of others is frightening, I wonder if my way to bother them. I want out, careful not to wake anyone tell me the last time a fight broke out, I woke up my cousin and he thought it was another under these conditions ... not just a moment.
Then there is always some cop, who knows what he thinks when I shake his baton and take advantage of our women. I was right to leave the mine, in our country, with my children, the last one is so fragile, doctors do not know but who always gets sick. I think he
when I leave this tent on tiptoe, no more smell acrid, oxygen, cold, ice cold ... I enter the bone, not going to make it, he was born in a mild climate here is mild not nothing left.
People always look at me in disgust, I want to scream that if I had a house I'd be nice and clean. Sooner or later I'll make it, maybe, I just hope not to die away from her tomorrow ... waiting for me in the yard, to take advantage of new, like a slave, give me a pittance, fortunately there's that Gurd, has My own origins, sometimes it makes me use the bathroom, and I feel the smell of clean water ... I should not have come here to America I think, but maybe I'll make it, meanwhile the moon looks at me, cold and detached, who knows what you think of this stupid humanity ...
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