I\'m looking for the writing that hurts
good manners .
The primal voice that shatters dust walls .
And those days ,when the sun dreams of rain
to hide its tears .
Madness is always alone and frightens the void.
Under the tree of life ,shadows pretend
offering dead flowers to the goddesses.
Trapped in the haughty revolt of my silence
I greet the crows from the balcony ,
declaring open the conclave of cadavers
illuminated by the sigh of agreed light...
You, who wear your wind shoes
the part-time clock knows the face
of your november children
and the skeletons sleeping in wardrobes,
blessed with purple and mothballs...
I\'m this rebellious electron
lost in the marathon creed ,
among all those photons ,
crowd singing the blues,
arpeggios frozen in the sob of stone.
I am looking for the fleshless love ,
leash-free passion ,fluidless fusion.
Entrails that do not carry life .
Rejection of the chalice,
Damned \'s heavy kiss ,
lure of the abbyss...
Throwing away the salvation key ,
I\'m looking for the exstasis of those moment
when life is absent and death still a distant rumor.
The finish line is over there ,beyond the past
but the price will have to be negociated
with the temple dealers in money of sand...
I\'d no longer hear those shrill voices
waiting at the service exit ,
who only know how to believe ...
Don\'t worry! The sky- dispenser is working ....
A new pope is born ! Allegretto !
Do you recognize me happy teddy ?
I am your old friend ,brother despair ....