Como quiera que se acerca la romería y
el titular de este blog no es muy romero,
amén de pasar un fin de semana
un poco inquietante esquivando caballos
y música chunga en pubs y locales,
me dispongo a reciclar las neuronas.
(Gilgamesh contra su identidad)

Mama, take this badge off of me
I can't use it anymore.
It's gettin' dark, too dark for me to see
I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door.

Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door

Mama, put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore.
That long black cloud is comin' down
I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door.

Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door
Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door

(by Robert Allen Zimmerman,
alias el gran Bob Dylan)