And then not alone. In waiting. And then you had a mouth. You had time. The time of the train of tears. On those roads he faints. The nailed points hold the road. In all directions he shoots. While the famous tramps sing to his guitar. Open car for the landscape to enter. From the desert, landscape. The stains of the trees, there in the background, escape in the opposite direction. Song after song they ask where one goes straight to success, playing dry strings, dry throat, that growls like a wounded animal.