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Om mig: <s></s> skype me at Jesse Glenn I pass a hole in the center of the earth Deep to reach the other side of the world We convert all that have been silent In the only legend that has never been told In the past we were birds with four wings Dragons, snakes, bengal tigers Mythology wanted us to be perfect Until reality turned us into insects In small grasshoppers that no one would remember The unrecognized sons of philosophy But with our feet we create new melodies And we jump over all the dynasties We come from the simple, from what No dream We are the greatness of small things And we reproduce in thousands of ways Every time we kiss our body is transformed and What matters no longer matters What is great now is small Here ...