San Francisco
In the day where I will be myself, or better, to die, I want very I cry, however few candles, a star already has proper light (it is my ego). I want that the current mayor smiles and until gargalhe on ' ' I defunto' ' , therefore it would not support demagogy, but I want mine three days of I fight, with right the flag the half mast. I will not need carpideiras, therefore the widowers will be as much who the tears will make to overflow the river San Francisco (ta pretension). In the day where I to die, want that they silence the horns and they sing for the streets my songs, declaim my verses and they spill a thousand compliments on my corpse (Fool illusion). I want that my enemies hold the handle of my coffin and play sand shovels on my hollow, therefore I want they curse that me until the last moment.
My friends will even though go for the way counting my causos, floreando my life, placing color where at moments I was black sheep (until friends they tire). In the day where I to die, want that cachaa either distributed of favour, after all, who it lived tipsy of verses has that at least embebedar those that to reach had never obtained me. I want that the formadores of opinion supplicate a thousand plagues against my corpse, then, who does not obtain to curse what it is in the face, at least does not go to arranhar my tomb. I want a epitfio thus: ' ' It died, but he continues insuportvel' '! I want that the bars never close before ' ' saideira' ' interminable and that the bohemians sing until waking up the inherent deafness. In the day where I to die, want they dress that me of black color, after all, I want to seem lean and esbelto.
Who knows comes one to receive anja me? But of the skill that the things walk, I find that I will erase the light and I will close the door. My health is of iron and is stubborn until pra to die. The death alone to reach goes me if I to want, vixe, was to turn side pro and I almost fell. Sarav, my father! Vade backward! Oxe! IT IS MARKED