The voice is a remembrance
a forbidden name
whispers an invitation
like a sound of a chord
A light comes on
from the depths of time
beats against us
from nowhere shines
Reason sleeps
monsters rise
with cold beaks
filled with affliction
The house of the dead
is a temple of oblivion
a buzz of voices
are crooked trees
Without air we cannot breathe
one cannot live or speak
we should use diving suits
close ourselves only in meandering ponds
love would be difficult
feeling the heartbeat of others
This universe is not for us
we are nothing but metazoans
we are there by mistake or for revenge
other than our favorite home
without air music doesn't exist
nor poetry what a sad world
