Asphalt night
by red dawn’s light
descends into deepest fog.

A glimmer of bright
on the edge of sight
shimmers blue: I begin to walk.

sunday s dissapointment
six days far
dear oh dear
make me dissapear
I play a game of chess
and go and make a mess
pawn  not a queen
remains to be seen
In front of prying eyes
shredding your disguise
the toughest thing of all
is sunday is gonna come

Seeing the raindrops
meet a passing existence,
in limpid tears

Night is in. Windows go out.
Everything’s falling asleep.
Dreams are twisting round parks and squares.
Railing platforms are slept on feet.

The blooming town is wrapped by silence.
It restlessly bustled during the day.
But night has come, and all its fervor
Has suddenly fully gone away.

The morning will come, and everything’ll wake up.
The town will seethe up and run at full pelt.
All men will wake up, the whole thing will go back.
Isn’t that so? Please, tell me! Is that it??

But life dictates its own canons.
Life is deaf to all people’s pleas.
And windows go out first, last and all the time.
Less than all return to their things.

Windows began to go out around me.
Unturned, completely, forever, at all.
Windows go out… Windows go out…
The light goes out once and for all.

Interfering waves distort the mind,
shattered dreams freeze in their wake—
a chasm deep, sleep’s quiet grave,
where reality bends and breaks.

The ego quivers at the brink,
between the void and waking’s weight,
a struggle fierce, a war with fate—
archetypes stir, reborn to think.

"I feel old", I said

"Time travel" they imposed

"How?", I exclaimed

"Fall in love", they replied