We are the sons of the most desperate prudence, that in the freedom of time arranged a rendezvous with the work of this land. We are all that saw what's useful, from the trivial to the sudden trade: Spain and the colony, America and its good patio, to which all looks point to. We are, beforehand, the sorrow of others living in vital shame. We are the legitimate sincerity of the lucky, of the whip and success. Those of the service that claims any attempt to act and live. Those of love.

Our respite is the way in which the nostalgia expands and we archive the letter of every single honor that has spoken to life. We are the needed line, located in the abundance resulting from the exercise of all good parts. We fled the hospitality offered in vain throughout paralysis of imagination and we start, each day, to strip of ornaments and congratulations the sane judgement and wisdom.

We are, therefor,e the children of the calm, the council sought to have the incredible oversights and the reece writing tests. And there we go with the threat of goodness and the nobility of patience, announcing peace. Fertile, fitted with complaints and bitterness, but bursting into the mold of love. Inviting to the influence of the beautiful, fore it is longing for each particle that hope releases.