I'm going mad, there is no doubt.
children in my brain,
whose dreams are broken,
screaming in eternal silence,
wanting to find his relations
in the merry-go-round.
volcanos burn me inside,
their lavas slaying my emotions.
if all the things will be shuttered,
why volcanos and merry-go-round,
and the children mouths'
are open now?
madness still make me alive, there is no doubt...