Dejections

Hirta, has decades posa it under the sun and rain, and accumulates of stocks with its rijeza the orphan, the ancio and the widower. Sobressai in the height, attractive, this majestical figure; Doubtlessly, the postal card of the Wonderful City. There of the high one, the landscape could not be more beautiful; But, under, it has realities that they are opposed to this watercolor! While its admirers if delight in its pedestal, Distant from there they soobram Priest Miguel and General Vigrio. The Avenue Vieira Souto is the luxury, antagonistic to the garbage; In the Corcovado, it is fixed image, exempts of a niche.

The dejections if augment, and the Lagoon is perishing; Also the penitentiaries, pressed together, more people come receiving. In the mounts, the dealers drink a toast with some policeman, Therefore this, acomadrado with those, if resvala for the evil The violence invades the homes cruelly, and the indefensos are cut with a scythe wide, to the pairs But the arms continue opened, receiving the metropolis, and deceased if they fire to the image deceased, route to the necropolis. While the sequestrations had turned noteworthy substance, the traffic of drugs, in surdina, goes tracing its route Incru only if compraz in the vision of the inert image, That lies in its immobility; desperte does not have who! The religious ones if agonize in the prayers, in the clemency eagerness; E, in reply to its rogos, to each day increases the violence. The creators of the image, estupefatos, do not understand the reason Of everything how much he divulges yourself, of everything how much he sees yourself These guides do not enter in the Kingdom of the Skies nor leave to enter To that they are entering, to that curl the eternity to enjoy; They corrupt the reason of the ignaros infusing to them it belief In the image deceased, of rock; for God, he does not have greater offence! Mob is unaware of incauta its unfortunate luck, That, has a way that to the man he seems right, But, no matter how hard this way if shows to it perfect, the end of it is, inevitably, the ways of the death!.