Moon darkens the sky
no bumblebee flies
sing the sea to my lies
birds compulsivly cry
wind glitters the grass
green, yellow and blind.


Sing the sea to the wind
that cries, compulsively, cries
shines water in creek
dies creek in the ground

Hush the frogs that sing in the fields 

as their sing is cry and their cry is fear

Hush them all as they cry for thee

as they cry for us, as they cry for me.

Dry the dew that caress the grass

with that softened touch which once was mine

Dry the tears that the frogs brought back

as it adds dead weight onto my back

A weekend of sorrow

A weekend of expectation

A weekend to remain in the dark

A weekend to turn

a weekend to metamorphosise

Waste your intellect

and loose yourself in perception

and see if you can stop

once the weekend's dead

Turn, turn, turn

into the arms of perception

Turn, turn, turn

into the arms of perception

waste your way

fall into alienation

Fade, fade, break

fall into the void

fall to your back

disappear your lack

of estimation

Blind yourself

take your common eyes off

and use the ones fear lends

Get away from life

if you don't live it to the fullest

Endure.

Empty is when I'm down

my heart, my mind

My soul wonders around

and I am stuck

with the pain of watching

with the sorrow of a widow

cause my married self has departured

and I am stuck

I am paralized

Secretive secrets

remain hidden to me

but I don't even want 

to find out about them

I don't care

I posses my own 

secretive secrets

that I probably

won't ever share

And the pile will grow

and grow, and grow

until they crumble

on my head 

on my mind

on my self

Or they will blow up

like a swollen balloon

splattering everything

and they'll be 

splattered secrets

10 am is the hour of my death

I will perrish, slowly, like the wind

blowing the thinest sand away

I will disappear for ever

I will disappear for ever

Another thorn will be stuck in me

another sigh will escape from me

another me will die

I am not even person

I am not even I

So my lungs won't fill with air

and my eyes will shed no tears

and my heart won't beat

and my hand won't write

because I don't exist

I've been dead for a long time

10 am is the hour of my death

10 am is the hour when reality breaks

La tristeza increíble

atraviesa el pecho 

como una daga fría

cuando caemos en 

conocimiento

de la desolada realidad

y vemos que el destino

depende de un brillo

que solo pocos tendrán

y que la mayoría deberá

sufrir la condena

de ser uno más

Golden rain 

creeps my eyes

dust from hell

I inhale.

Fallen disguise

of tomorrow's lies

get on my path

as I recover my old self

as I get closer to living

as I begin to die.

I wanted more

I have it all

and dissappear

as light comes near.

The gods are dead

the blames are set

no one's ever to say

how, or why, or when or where.

The gods have died

and freed the intelect

to the abbys of man

and the endless dark.

so, this is just some chain of thoughts...

How is it that in sorrow all the people, old people, middle aged, tough men and women, behave like children? Is it because growing up is imposed? An imposed fallacy, and when at our weakest we cannot bare the lie anymore; and we let go of our conciouseness, and we become like children.
Is this the real freedom that we believe to have when we are aware, but presents itself only in the most degrading grief?

I have noticed this kind of behaviour also when people are close to dieing. Pride vanishes. Utter shame overcomes, and overwhelms, and thus... freedom of the mind.

Mis pies en el agua blanca

de pensamiento y afines

destino de mi boca manca

de mis palabras, confines.

Atados entre la roca

del río que muere quieto

cosen los labios, la boca

y el cuerpo no es más que un boceto

Say one word

and remain silent

wait for the void 

to come

to answer

Say one word

and wait for the void

to haunt you

and forever remain

silent.