Deponha








Deponha lá 
Daqui o que achar 
Nem ia usar 
Deposto que ia chegar 
Não viso mais comprar 
Nunca disse o que fui falar 
Derradeira vontade de cantar



Pedro Moreira Nt 


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Entertainment Industry of Rain

  If they are    envolved employments were to dumps a national selection for protect their members sponsored against evident risks in plays, it is possible front imminent waterfall that put their products in falls down into market, we will see a turnaround from favorite pet and bets leading to results unthinkable.  It must happen in conformity with the current situation in the process of classification of the national selections with more and less investment in relation to consumer confidence. The losses will be linked to higher levels of public disclaimer and monetary requirements. However, since most companies have been able to sell their products through offshore trading betting in business institutions and other international places, it does not mean to leave the entertainment industry to wind blow away. The national selections involve a series of events bonded with thoughtful choices weighted by business agents, influenced by lobbyists, sponsors, and political d...
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I saw my feet in the air

  I saw my feet in the air Each step finding dreams hanging Sending side to side They are almost all dead Shadows in brightening color falling  Reflecting their bodies on poor people which has never dreamed  Riches that think that exist dreamers  sleeping with a tied face that causes scare They hugged and definitively clasped in stuff I rise a little more fleeing from  the ground
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Muito Sol

  Muito sol. Não dá como paralisar as ondas gelatinosas. Nenhum gelo; ao menos iceberg viesse. Balas de hortelã de cobre e latão enfiada na carne da areia, vejo isso desviando espumas ácidas. A coisa comum aparece. O canto morno. Tanta festa no dia desconhecido. Areias sórdidas se amontanhando, rindo, enchendo os bolsos. As nuvens fedorentas de sangue seco, deterioradas roem o infinito. A mesquinhez açucarada da violência está bêbada aos golpes. O dia morto atrás do chumbo grosso. Alguém, agorinha mata um pai. Ajoelha agradecendo vantagens. Almas miseráveis, bem vestidas passeiam arrastando cadáveres. Alegria extenuante de batucadas de glórias, gritam: vencemos, riem até cair a saliva em manchas de muco lançados, todos muito atentos aos ganhos imobiliários, enchendo a poça imunda das certezas planas da existência. E já morre outra vez o amanhecer e as esperanças escalvadas.
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