I thought I’d overcome it all,
Denied it, really.
Where is one’s blood, one’s faith, one’s God?
I’m in the middle.

I’ve broken free from my old bonds,
I left uninjured.
For like a dream our union was:
Absurd and hindered.

By taking a discursive way,
I lied and gambled.
I knew I would be asked one day:
"Where is your Abel?"

In real life, not in a dream,
I have their habits.
The ghetto genes still live in me
Like dead man’s maggots.