Leisure stained whims without excuse or contours.
shapes for ghosts out of breath collection,
thrown away imaginary appearances.
Fanatic to the rain persists,
pressed down his beat.
Inside the bowels of the earth roots writhing,
crawling up the sun.
shapes for ghosts out of breath collection,
thrown away imaginary appearances.
Fanatic to the rain persists,
pressed down his beat.
Inside the bowels of the earth roots writhing,
crawling up the sun.
E 'contention, sweet and bitter. And here the words back to being real.
A pilgrimage in which no matter where you're running or where you're going, feel less important and defined the need to do it.
What puts the gears in motion, a force so strong that can blow up the North of the compass.
A rushing river breaking its banks carry away everything that is built on fragile foundations. There is no vehicle, nor half, only the impulse to strip the bulimic body convulsed by this force. The magnetic appeal is that the impetus dà nutrimento, come la legna quando brucia.
Spazza via, sgretolando sospiri, abissi e silenzi, strisciando nelle vene e muove dita, lingua, ore.
