Pixabay
Only the life of a madman who looks pink with a thorn that bleeds pain that everything wants to drink, in the impurity.
There is no lie of the truth of the face of the blood that lives to fly under shadows, where blasphemy reigns, without pain
Sweet violin that softens the wind of these impure wings, over this hell of pleasure of allegory of life of destiny of Dante under its circles of pain.