What are we made? Things, thoughts, ... and the time is it?
Life of everyone, the prerogative of being, a moment of transition,
exists and where every moment quickly become old.
The clock is ticking inexorably dragging joys and follies of humanity.
Painters of our actions, what
say, see, feel, contemplating life.
Identify with something, someone, be the discipline
opposite of what we really are.
The exaltation, insane, something 'unintelligible, the adrenaline
blinds my sight, i find me different, far away from you.
A wolf that wanders in winter landscapes, where there is freedom, or
inside the head of an eagle, to study the world from above, where everything seems
is just the fact that you are special things, the heart and mind,
tools necessary to be able to understand.
In a barrel of wine for a lifetime, get drunk without the time
steps, concentrating everything in a single instant, insanity determines the beginning and end of
what we are.
Mad is the desire to exchange our existence
forgetting your train of thought, death always waiting.
Everything seems perfect and simple, becoming different in a moment,
taste of dust, find ourselves a different skin, beautiful,
Touch someone, love embarrassing mistake, the blood has
tastes like sugar, .... I remember smells of talcun powder, get us on cherries
Pure adrenaline all the flavor that ended abruptly, sugar,
talcum powder and cherries,
sensations that regulate everything, but everything is nearby, it feels more and more
intrusive, haunts us.
We set to count, time, love, life, whenever we
are left to fuck shit stuff, in exchange for a bit of joy.
With a finger can touch the sky, but we still lack
time, happiness hidden in fear of growing up, time is the only way to propose
just something ugly or nice, at least the truth never stands in the middle but
leans slightly to one side.