The Crown Laurels, flying heads, crow voracious. Vain undertaker, broken life and broken bodies float hidden from our shadows. Where anybody can’t watch.
They have illuminated our way, sprinkle with salt and oil our cities; it’s a beautiful condiment. Men are with laurels crown-like old and fake gods. Crows voracious are flying over our heads.
Hands in hands are cleaning their crimes. Like a good and old friend.
Another body is under the crying wall. Look back; there are black shadows that follow you. Are skeletons and bones?
The rain doesn’t clean the crime, but it is hidden between the words and fact. Broken promises, dressed up like white doves are flying in the sky. They had killed everyone. Interstellar explosion.
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.
Don’t wake up the sleeping dogs. They bite you.
The Laurels Crown and Heads are heavy like a thousand stones.
I believe it was a bad dream, but I woke up, and I have seen the world and its citizen.
I do not die, I am here between all of this. Flowers, love, life explosions.