The cosmic sovereignty of the universes is the brilliance of the pearly holy stars. At heart, you are afraid first, and then echo blasts are frightened, scared - in every missed blast, we ourselves measure the sinful time-minutes. Pisly-moon moonshine conceivably turns into starving, round cheese, and the oblivious, mowing-to-darkness watches over its petty victims left unprotected with vigilance. Dark night birds still stuttering, waving quietly ...

The autumnal loneliness of tree leaves, even the well-deserved, intermediate state; Nirvana-nothing is contemplated in the annual rings of nature: beetles, animals, living fauna. - Many more forgettable, questionable questions and aggressive question marks; Létkatharizs bleeds itself into rose-toothed dawn. The raging dawn, like a wounded red blotch, gives way to a bolero tune.