Oh what a luck mine
Of my soul
To found a traveller love
With its promises
Within its suitcases

When I thought I needed the touch
That being in my skin
In my soul
Black suitcases packed up
And went away again
I say again
Because again
It marched the love of me
As the loves
They have always march

But I always marking
The way to me
Putting wheels on luggage
Removing the stones of the road
Cutting the grass of the soul
to make it look clean my soul

There are so many dreams
For my roads
For my streets
My buildings
My beautiful walls of being
If you see that there are thorns on the way
Don't pass with the tires of your soul.
-Jonatan Vega