Soy nuevo en esto de los poemas, pero, en fin.
The teapot people got in your kitchen
They're taking away the strings
they're fixing nails to your feet.
You are not the spider anymore,
you have lost the web.
But, Did you ever own those strings?
Did you ever look for anything?
Did you ever leave your room?
Weren't you just waiting,
for someone to wake you up?
Job isn't changing his flat tire,
he never learnt how.
Those wings you have can't fly,
they're made for you to fall.
There's a lot written 'bout paths,
and doors, and ways, and songs;
but it's not enough
no, never enough.
Get yourself your own words,
start digging your own holes,
and just eat what you must, leave no crumbs
'cause there are no dogs under that table of yours.