The pity is the subway's commerce, stripped of pride have no sense any type of modesty or lie, the only important thing is to feed the vice that over the years has taken you to where you are now, hurting a number of people that you don't get or will ever remember, since everything that is important for you is to feed the vice to which you have made your body dependent. Today, broken and beaten, you're still going from wagon to wagon telling a pitiful lie waiting for a coin to feed your next dose.

The pity is the subway's commerce, forced to leave your pride on the floor, you go from wagon to wagon telling your sad and unfortunate story, you go from wagon to wagon observing how people look at you, you see the doubt, the contempt, the haughtiness , the disgust, the pity and, very seldom, the understanding in their eyes, in your past proud of your own pride, today, broken and beaten, you continue from wagon to wagon telling your unfortunately story waiting for a coin to feed your daughter.

The music is also the subway's commerce, middle-cradle child who never lacked or have too much, you learned to play the instrument at the beginning of your adolescence to get the "ephemeral" pleasure of being with a woman who likes more a person who plays than the person who play, never lacked or left anything in your cradle made of your parents' sweat, however here you are, from wagon to wagon waiting for the next coin to invite the next victim of your "charms" to a hotel.

The music is also the subway's commerce, you don't remember having any other toy than the one left by your grandfather when he die, you do not remember more desire for any other thing that wasn't play and sing the music of your heart, you can not remember exactly when your father died, when your melodies became sad or when you became so good as to be paid for it, you only remember your ten years old, that you must keep singing for hunger instead of desire and that you must go from wagon to wagon a few hours more, waiting for coins to bring some bread to your dying mother.

¿Do you know for sure where the coins you give or not give will remain? The truth is that you'll never know, you'll just think you know, so ¿what really matters? You and only you are the one who matters because that small decision is the one that will accompany you and give you the feeling of have done good, that decision will give you peace.