Have you ever noticed how the fire looks
How bright it is  
so how will I put it?
How will you read it
If I burnt it at the corner
With a dying match
What will I do with the ashes?
With all these black ashes
Will they lie on my skin
And tattoo me with bad memories
that i name and store perfectly numbered stretched down long dark corridors in small unassuming wooden boxes with little die-caste numbers
She has a mind not fit to waste
And places to be
We are tangled in this spider-web
and the vibrations say "He is returning from the hunt"
His breath smells like alcohol and a scent of gasoline
this would all end up surprising me when i read again the black die-caste number of this night and hour and moment. A second can pass as hours when the eyes are closed
in those moments...
which you will most enjoy
do not panic or struggle against fate

I thought of you in the struggle
for a moment all was golden
and then I entered the other place that is above me
there i spent infinities walking through my dreams
and climbing the tall towers of glass to watch the sun set

it is common for a man to think that he may not dance at the feet of God
but uncommon to see his soul beneath the lock and key of time's invention
find it among the caves that are dark and endless
Leave footprints on the sand of time you fools, so another fool seeing shall take heart again
I will swim in that warm blue sea