So synchronized in the dance of simulated silence
the night was descending upon us like an icy claw into the warm womb of a beast
leaving rotten labyrinths of flesh and plasma behind
still pulsing like two open wounds bleeding one into the other
we didn’t understand why time was being swept back into the shell
we could only cry watching it disappear from the edge of darkness.

A dream was slowly paying us a visit through the portal of our left eye
cowardly, we were hiding between less than clear folds of air
all the same, someone was sketching undisturbed our unfulfilled destinies
like a game perpetually following the same rules
in a strange way, reality mirrors less and less our personal choices
with our right eye weighing jokingly the relative distance to a world
in which we defend ourselves from being left with no words to describe how we feel.

An ever stranger silence tells us about the improbable,
about the rain season in which we are still finding our way by the absence of the Sun
while the skies are open in a promise of ascension to nowhere
I will fly like a bird in the middle of this non-existence
I will steal two wings from the room with sleeping butterflies
and once again we will return to where we started from.

The eye of the storm will look again towards the center of the Earth
And in this watery prison there will be survivors No More.