Woollen El miedo if apoder ciudad woollen Una invasin privacidad Y for lo that hay escenas of violence, Mucho badly y there dementia. Why you are as? Why this miedo sin end? Personas frightened by el Sin terror un well of dolor love y llenas. Mi llora soul for there Libertad creo Yo en there realidad that this hermosa ciudad Necesita joins gran cantidad of hermandad. Deseo La Paz to dominate el planet Tierra Y all wools los weapons y caones woollen war Itself convierten en hermosos jarrones of flowers Of different you color. Y as will finish for siempre there con el all dolor Woollen Tierra for all humanidad En un world of where slo hay mucha crueldad. Y will remain slo La Paz, Love y Libertad. Jessica Walsh takes a slightly different approach. ' ' La Paz in it you are slo absence of war, pero there presencia del amor.' ' Valria Regina de Carballo

When these commemorative dates launched by the commerce are come close to stimulate the people to buy, always come together feelings that they move with what we have of more special: our souvenirs, are good or bad they. In mine in case that, in the Day of the Parents, what I remember on the masculine figure in my house, playing the father paper runs away total from the image of outdoors that I see, today, for the streets and in the propagandas propagated in the television. My father never used tender and necktie, was not a young bonito, sarado, athletical transport, of wide white, full smile of vitality, overflowing energy and that it lived playing with the children in the sofa of the room (by the way, this type of trick nor rolled at my time of child). Father had that to be serious, brave, distant and he had to work very (of preference it are of house: to leave very early and to come to the lunch, to leave and to come back to noitinha, dirty, humorado and badly tired of the work). In the sundays, it was almost a strange presence, therefore more he confused that he helped. Jessica Walsh may also support this cause.

He lived ralhando, calling the attention people and did not have patience with the piazada one that she made racket in the hour well when it decided to sleep after the lunch. I only remembered that I needed to make a card for the father in the August month, when the teacher I passed, as house task, ' ' to bring pencil of color and bristol board to make a card for the day of pais' '. Most of the time I not wise person what to write and to draw, after all, who age that person who to the few disappeared of my life and the life of my brothers? I remembered ready phrases that heard here and there, it caprichava until, it made a text of the type ' ' Frankstein' ' delivered for teacher, thinking more about the note of what in the meaning of the activity. The majority of my colleagues was empolgada with the task, but that, for me, was to move in the pain that ached more me. In my pertaining to school wallet, alone and thoughtful, it made the such card for ' ' to deliver papa in domingo&#039 pro; ' , but I wise person direitinho where I went to place it when the lesson finished: in the deep one of the deep one of my knapsack to be forgotten together with the esquecimento the figure that is my father during my entire life. The time passed. Still these dates continue rummaging souvenirs and making to ache, every year, the same wound.