Sometimes the tumult in the soul is so strong and exasperating, the rugged and useful trouble of the spirit, hills as chipped, the long steep in our extensive underground, in whose bowels sometimes occur lacerations, under the open sky auras in vivid ray of sunshine, while inside the chest is scarred by deep sighs, transported by a stormy sea and dark gray, with terrible cold waves and violent, still new phalanxes of sorrows attack in the interior, and the brave soul tries to fight like a warrior .. while screaming to have reverie help, the spirit helps the soul, but it is a very tough fight, in the footsteps of the soul perilous enemies conspire, in the steps of an advanced destruction, but the soul scared and bleeding runs on the bank of a muddy river in flood and the vision of the setting sun bathes the relief, the breeze of the wind embraces the coolness while his eyes finally manage to cry.
