- Someone, and it doesn't matter who, lives my head as if it were an empty house, enters, goes out, shakes every door behind him and without a trick I endure this mess, someone, it may be me, hiding my most private thoughts in the palm of his hand wrinkled, throwing it in vain, someone, and it has been a long time, walking strutting inside the room, indifferent to me, standing meditating on ruin, someone, and no matter where, collecting shadow fragments and repeating them and throwing them to nothing