Like clouds arranged in the Jigsaw mist
Engulfing time in eternal haze...
My immaturity continually defeated by experience
Of the wind peeping into the relative humidity
And warm smell of despair
The tears evaporate into monosyllables
Creating a compulsory revolution of lyrics
Pricking my worthless being
Like crawling worms in the mud…
Madmen and literate children
Shout and cry from the mountain peaks
The naked ukulele player shivers in the night
In his epic of caressing the moon...
The stubble in want of a shave troubles the saint
Urges him to walk alone on the street
The disciple with the tray of scattered donations
Writes the story of resurrection...
The termites of the cursed household
Dig into the rusty mind of the retired revolutionary
In an attempt to wake him with a sting…
The corpse lay awake staring at the sky
Listening to prayers for eternal peaceful rest
And shivering with the cold touch of Anubis...
The words levitate through the morning mist
Of work and incessant silence...
The nightmare evaporates with the morning dew
Leaving behind marks of humidity
The dying hope of living
Drags his nails on the wooden ground
With the tears vaporizing
And the rainy nightmare summarizing