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The crime was so atrocious,

Nausea was so close

Your coffee still not end that the phone rung,

And here you are at 6:43,

Lashed by the coldness

Gazing at the naked body of that girl

Laid in the red snow,

Which tortured souls have once again acted

A murder, maybe a rape

Which slaughter will you awake tomorrow?

Every time we called you

Was to cover corpses…

The photograph murders,

To list pieces,

And to search the investigator of the awfulness

The sadist who fills the newspapers.

Too disgusted, not to drink anymore,

Not enough not to vomit anymore

Except to fill your report and to end your coffee

And this evening half-drunk you'll fall down

Waiting for the next 6:43