CROWN

No reward, no throne.

Neither the place of honor

Neither made out of the gold, nor made out of thorns.

I do not need a crown...

Defiant to admire me but pitiful,

to follow me with fear.

To devour me lives full of hunger

Souls of unfortunate vagabonds. All different ones

There are a lot of half-empty barrels.

They stink like mold

And the wine turns darker,

like blood on a piece of cotton.

And when leaking starts in the water spout

The drops are racing one another.

And their feet give them away, badly.

Numb or dead below the waist.

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