Ask me to be nowhere and find the rains.
Nights lied on the face of my wool-gatherings…between shadows.
Trammels…even the words don’t taste the trammels within.
I have seen some dead animals…on the verge of getting forgotten to the existence,
and you say this voyage is all and truth.
All naked ladies…all spine-tingling sex seems so blurred with salt waters.
Candles and gghhh! gghhh! this sound against melody…
But it has been a ride, a drunk melancholia, a pumping vagina.
There’s no glory in death.