Hands, Matches, An Ashtray. A Ritual Beautiful

Natural Thunder Heralds The Wetness Of Fresh Water High Clouds To Quench The Thirst Of Fields Gone Dry And Parched, A Messenger Of Blessed Rain, But This Was As Dry As Hell Must Be. My Distraught Perception Refused To Believe It, Because Of The Insane Suddenness With Which It Sounded, Swelled And Hit, And How Casually It Came To Murder My Child.

I Have Long Had This Premonition Of A Bright Day And A Deserted House

How The Miracle Of Our Meeting Shone There And Sang, I Didn't Want To Return From There To Anywhere. Happiness Instead Of Duty Was Bitter Delight To Me. Not Obliged To Speak To Anyone, I Spoke For A Long While. Let Passions Stifle Lovers, Demanding Answers, We, My Dear, Are Only Souls At The Limits Of The World.

We Aged A Hundred Years, And This Happened In A Single Hour: The Short Summer Had Already Died, The Body Of The Ploughed Plains Smoked.

My Shadow Serves As The Friend I Crave