What, Oh! Friend, happened here where I am Judas?,
Sending in these times of weakness a letter to your woman
Sending those shards of treason where lies an ungiven kiss
But a consummated treason because of words lives.
Shall I be the hero of the bible this time?
Or will I die in countryside paying treason, my crime?
Was this true? A complicated scheme of crime;
Where you are an unarmed Jesus opposing Judas
passionate both, ready to correspond each other's time?
Unfair was, because the love we held for a woman
kept in secret for the half of our lives.
Unfair indeed, the treason lying everyday in a false kiss.
It was her sin not to tell the truth about that kiss,
It was my truce to her love not to think about our crime
and how unbearable would be our minds or lives.
And let your sword be naked, for a dead Judas
is everybody's dream, and to have a woman
to share amazing feats in only a human's life-time.
I'm not playing with you, but with your time,
Because each pierce you make to me is a kiss
you are not enjoying her; rather than loving your woman,
you end my beats killing my crime with your crime.
Making better legends to your children; like a real Judas
telling them we all are not unfaithful, when we enter other's lives.
We will never be old people, we are bleeding our lives
and she is waiting for one of us to survive for her time;
She will never understand which killer is more of a Judas,
she will take our forehead's and pray 'Sleep', with a gentle kiss.
Your brothers will cry to police ' Crime!',
and detectives will reply, sighing, 'Woman'.
She had no foresight, she only has regrets as a woman,
having no more control in her's or other people's lives,
because she can only remember us as a single crime.
What happened in between? With the dead as a freeing time,
without shape as soul, I have no lips. I can't kiss,
and if I can't use my flesh, I don't betray, being no more Judas.
Was he the hero? Judas. Is she worse? Woman.
It is said that a kiss ends more than just mere lives,
paying an eternal time, for the sweetest of the Crimes.
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Esto se debe a la bella clase de Lecturas Dirigidas que tengo los martes. Alguna vez en secundaria había hecho una, pero creo que esta salió mas decente que la otra que seguro era una acumulación ñoña y lugarcomunera (ojalá, esta no lo parezca tanto).
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