You'd sing too if you found yourself in a place like this

You wouldn't worry about whether you were as good as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf

You'd sing

You'd sing not for yourself

but to make a self out of the old food rotting in the astral bowel

and the loveless thud of your own breathing

You'd become a singer faster than it takes to hate a rival's charm

and you'd sing, darling

you'd sing too

E ESTOU COM MEDO DISSO.