De Viño Triste

That man walking into the bar
With no shadow barking at him
The one who steps and moves on
Without a face or signs

He orders a drink alone
Facing away from the street
He drinks his drink alone
Motionless, lingering
Lingering

He pays, thinks of another drink
Without spending a single word
And then he leaves alone
Towards the night and nobody
That guy is wounded
And death knows it