You, who speak, shout, threaten,
Oh, how many gems of coal you pour
From your mouths upon us,
Hypocritical gentlemen of nervousness,
Blind and dangerous judges of nothingness.
You enjoy yourselves, don't you? You feel like masters,
Right, slaves of time and vice?
It will all come back to you, and not
In sound, no, that is your medium,
No, it will be an invisible revenge,
For it will be in silence
That I will leave the result of your actions,
There will sprout your mud
Which with joy I will shake off.
You, who should know best of all...
But what am I saying, when have you ever deigned
To understand? When to listen?
And here you are, in the rare quiet of home,
You utter the most alien word ever,
A note that is out of tune in a cruel melody
Because of its sweetness, its truth.
"Empathy," the missing gift not to me,
As you convince yourselves, but to you.
You have always looked, judged,
Never understood. But I will not call you stupid
For that, oh, no, for it will be in the silence
That the boomerang will strike in your teeth,
Following a strange law of reciprocation
That with joy I will stick on you
"until death do you part."