Because you fall, you fall, and even if you want the sure impossible - you can't cling to it: Swan hands, no grace-sharing gazes, no voluntarily offered, helpful intentions! You are demonstrably trembling and shaking like a castle on a weak pedestal: Your destiny depends on a thin hair, over the Kharübdis gorge, while balancing your options with an untalented rope dance!

See! Your destiny is on the immortality of fallen people and they fall - do they recognize the necessary will, or are they left free to fall for a while? You are already experiencing the depth on your own skin, while the Disappointment of Nothing threatens to mediate! - And it would be good to find a shelter among the embracing arms, so that you believe yourself:

You can't be alone! - Your heart responds to your fears with the ringing bells of desperate supplications. You would try to extinguish the flames of your doubt with your wooden stick confidence! The end-length of everyday life has no soul-killing eternity, as both praised and stigmatized

with your ******, lower need for life, you are still tolerating, while in the place of your conscience, a timer counts more and more resolutely, killer-vehemently! As a denied prodigal, downtrodden angel, you go mad on the culverts of streets: you can't decide — you don't even know the answers to the risks you consider: Should I cross the puddles of puddles or fall straight into the middle of bribery? -

The ever-restless intention of your blood drops into your ear more and more pulsatingly. And the unbelieving grievance roars in the midst of the judge: Why do we have to choose the whirlwind of the depths, even if the unarmed embraces, embraces him as a mercy of compassion ?!