Surrounded by mountains and the Guaire river,
Venezuelan capital is like the perfect postal.
Modern buildings only from 1970,
Hills full of poor brick houses.
In the sidewalks: garbage, threes and thieves,
On the streets 2003 Toyotas, 2009 Chevrolets
And buses where everybody is standing up.
In the subway is impossible to sit, move or breath.
In the morgue: corpses have no space,
The city has twenty, thirty murders per day.
Criminals are the bosses of this war.
Like a nightmare, running is not enough
To hide or to escape from Caracas
Where nobody knows if today is the last day.