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It's terrible to see the worm that doesn't break promises in his duty. The parasite that learned to tolerate a frown while pursuing vengeance on irrationality, and after seeing that danger seeks dead stars, he wants to warm his cold with a sick song:

"Why do wolves see in my wet and red condition the inevitable death?"

Happiness, which walked years back alongside his spirit, now lurked, strange and kind, stealing the desire of God from himself; and that monster, clinging to leisure, rarely regretted his actions at dawn.