As the middle of the sun
describes our inner time
we build verses with songs
and lies, but in the sunny tone
of lyrics sounds
we think about tinny shadows.
When we forget all what we reach
we climb the wall
beneath the surface of nothingness.
And in our destiny is written
the tale that splits the meaning
called symbolic squad.
For the rest of our night
we round beautifulness
and the sorrow of being
too much cropped
deny the silence. Noisy voices
arise in the shaped word
and the believes belong
to us, to our flavor and taste
of souls. In our childhood song
we recall the canyon of life
and our strength arrives
to make our verse a little shinny.
So on we destroy the fatigue
and we sound the solitude
country that is our home.

Photo by Ryan on