Tired melancholy Poema, por António Anacleto, no Meu Lado Poético

Let my hat be called John,

let my bones be called Mary,

let my self be called Death

and let's all off us cry about it!

Sweet was my dreams before you,

Sweet was my Live as a child!

Now I just grew

and I lost my soul.

I lost my fate in my self

so God forgive me if I die

or, so afraid, I sit and cry!

God Help me with my strength.

Just pretend and look around

as if I'm not here.

Just pretend and look around

as if I have no fear.

So if I'm death tomorrow,

nobody should feel strange

because my heard already stopped

from beating for a cause!

This days I'm just surviving

waiting for any magic

Or in a more likely alternative

for the end off the days.

Tired melancholy