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In front of truth like a mirror reflex, your image as a light embraces the darkness we live unaware. That stupidity, I have a rendezvous, and I'm still here. Oh gosh, it was a dream what a fucking idea I've had. The earth swam in worms like ravens peeing on our head. This is our life.

So, I'm here now, and I'm trying to talk about myself. The dream is a beautiful and powerful word; we should take care of it. Have the abilities to transform dreams into something real is quite complicate and dangerous, sometimes.

An ocean, a thousand kilometres and scorching land. In the middle of the ocean, there isn't a Congestion. Only the reflex stars on the deep blue. The way has signed as like as a life I already had left behind.

The Crown Laurels and Heads are our lords. Prisoner of the emotions, the heart beating, eyes crying and life is gone. Oceans, ample gelid blanket that hid the secrets. We had heard them, but only the moon it has seen pass them.

The sound of silence is a din deafening like a thousand tacit agreement. Hidden clapping. It has gone, and the world it's still watching like a circus. We are not the spectator, we are the player, and we are losing the game.

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