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Children play in the saddest garden of lies
they smell the sorrow of a long forgotten event: to be born.
I was born from a mother called "nobody".
She was used to tell me
"your father won't come to you
because you're the one
who will hide your face in your hands"...
you're the last page of a book which is not to be red.

All that is left is an awful awareness
the coveted goal, vanishing silent.
A castle so vast, not even one brick,
can face the imposing breath of the wind.
Certainty, answer is the illusion,
folly is the moltitude of the cases,
geometry has been torn up by chaos.
Transparent image that covers the stain

Molesting your soul!
Slowly entering your mind which is pregnant by divine;
I've never felt such a joy to understand
your senseless speach...
When I feel your love, I hate!
Useless shadow of your past!
Slip your hands off from my face...and die...
It doesn't matter if my eyes will burn your skin

Such odd grin has unleashed a strong confusion
that violently shifts the thick woods
which hide their trees.
Such odd grin commands to mimic
the look of a sad dream
and steal again some seconds from infinity.
Give me a night to sleep
I'll give you a rose to paint.