I weigh frour kilos and eight hectos,
with seven rounds in the magazine,
and you cannot leave me, because
your same life depends on me,
just like your victory and I smell
of lube oil, and of gundpowder:
i was designed just to inflict
death and wounds to human beings...
i can't do anything else, but, if
i were a woman, I'd smell of life,
and, by night, while sleeping, your hand
would look for her body, soft and worm...
cursed be who designed me,
may his soul wander forever
among the flames, burning from his evil.