An odourless wind, she and a cat,knocking on my window. 

I suppose they have foreseen my melancholic hysteria, 

my black, my grey and a blur hellish red. 

Dicks like shovels and rugged history pages, sucking and kissing and so on…

That wind helped me to find the dust of all ancient souls.

It’s flaky, it’s on a journey towards the snows and beyond. 

She sucked me out; she sucked me out real good, 

and sometimes we loved between our hairs and this cowardly cosmic phenomenon. 

I lost her only to find that I could never loose her. 

But the cat was cold, it was dead. 

Spineless, breathless God lying on my attic. 

Get the hell out of here you three, I possess no memories, no lives and no lullaby. 

What a man has to do to get that silence here?