It is a different world out there.

Where life is broken down into its elementary notion

To something very elementary, that it starts to get eerie.

Like something as simple as a piece of paper becomes atoms and molecules,

Out there, men become a labyrinth of monoliths,

Painted in a shade of skin and made of bones.

These labyrinths are often carried by trench-coats,

Accompanied by trousers and shoes.

Out there is filled with scattered food for the birds

Scattered by the rhythmic motion of a wrinkled hand

Out there is repleted with hours waiting by the window

For things that don’t exist, or choose not to exist.

A world filled with nothing, nothing at all.

A world so big, bigger than you can imagine.

It is quite intuitive, for nothing

Except nothingness exists in such large numbers.