the convict roams the earth
searching for a place to call home
each door that he knocks
shuts him out
the world does not have any space
for him to be
at least
this man for another chance
in change
for the better
we tell him
he has a soul
we tell him
he must rise
from his body
so one day he dreams he has one
he believes what we had been saying
he has a soul
he has a spirit to embolden his body
one that rises above his curse his adversity
did we not deceive him?
leaving him in such a dream
redemption, resurrection, those fit for gods
and the chosen ones?
look at him
wandering again, knocking from door to door
moving from one place to another
looking for that bishop who must adopt him
jean valjean, in your misery and the coming miseries
where can this bishop be?
this century, where beliefs are given
where nothing that satisfies your belly is still hidden.
we dream of a soul
we negate this body, this flesh, this daily dying
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