Peperina

I want to tell you a good story
about a girl who lived the euphoria
of being part of rock
drinking peppermint tea.

Typically small-town mind
she didn't have the guts for the office
underground place of routine ideology.

Romantic, she sang the brightest poems
whispering in the ear of a thousand representatives:
I love you, I hate you, give me more.

Looking at the countryside, she forgot about men
dressing as a poor woman when looking at the rich
to know what the neighbors gossiped about.

In her mind, she carries a flag
she doesn't want to be like everyone else
she loves to show the straw in other people's eyes.

And in her story, she was Cinderella,
her prince was a hippie from the sixties
I love you, I hate you, give me more.

She works at concerts,
lives writing postcards,
sleeps with visitors
and plays with the locals,
her body has the grease of the capitals stuck to it.

I love you, I hate you, give me more
I love you, I hate you, give me more.
I love you, I hate you, give me more.