Two worlds

In glass towers, where the sun blinds the eyes, Millions of euros, dollars, like dust, fly into nowhere Luxurious hotels, glitter and the clink of glasses, Baggage handlers, whose backs bend under the weight of suitcases

Excessive security, like guards of golden chains, Haute couture tailors, creating fairies from fabrics

Hairdressers and make-up artists, brushes in their hands, Create the illusion of happiness on other people's cheeks

This is a bacchanalia of luxury, a feast during the plague, Where every breath is saturated with pain