Angol
Children are definitely crying somewhere now. There are those who rummage through garbage containers, those looking for a job, those who lean their heads on their knees and brood. There are those who are sleeping and those who can't sleep. There are children, young people and old people. There are the dead, the alive, and infants unaware of anything. There are the sober and drunk. There are the married and the homeless. Of course, somewhere there are empty streets and crowded parties. There are also those in bed, on the road, and those who work at this hour. There are those with good fortune and those who have nothing but bad luck. There are dreams and ghosts. There's a giant snare, an apocalyptic crowd. There are those with slanted eyes, and those with coal black skin. There are those who hope for God's help and those who have their butts kicked. There are those who may soon find themselves in big trouble, and those who have not, or will not, have run into a single serious problem throughout their lives. Bullets are raining down on people somewhere right now. Champagne bottles whose corks were simultaneously popped amidst spontaneous laughter.
