The winds drift through the heart
Bodies made of tattoos
People in a jungle of masks

Masks of past lives
Like Makabaja
Branko and Ashima Abraham

The journey begins in a droplet
Where people practice forgetting
Because they have mastered stillness

Stations full of silence
Shadows and cool glass
Sounds in memories

On walls stand punctuation marks
A sick man wrote them in blood
There are no children here anymore

The time of wars is over
From the storms of madness grew
A good tree reaching toward the light

From the storms of madness grew
A tree into the light