Untitled by Csar Vallejo Lyrics

It was Sunday in the clear ears of my ass,
Of my Peruvian ass in Peru (pardon the sadness)
More than ever today is it eleven in my personal experience
Experience of a single eye, nailed in the middle of the breast.
Of a single asininity, nailed in the middle of my breast,
Of a single hecatomb nailed in the middle of my breast.

So I see the portraits of the summits of my country
(Rich in asses, sons of asses, a bowing acquaintance with their parents),
While they turned now already painted with belief.
Horizontal summits of my griefs.

In his statue, like a sword,
Voltaire folds his cape and looks at the pediment,
But the sun enters me and frightens a growing number
Of inorganic bodies from my incisors.

And then I dream seventeen
In a greenish stone.
Craggy numeral I have forgotten,
Sound of years in the needle noise of my arm,
Rain and sun in Europe and the way I cough! 1 live!
How my hair hurts me perceiving the weekly centuries!
And how my microbe cycle,
I mean my tremulous, patriotic haircomb.