You\'ll be nothing more than a sniper
!n a world of poets ,my son...
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In the dark echo of silence
where one awakens
from a post mortem dream ...
A lizard that has shed its scales ,
hides to avoid being killed
by the midday sun ...
Amid the ruins of a life that was once beautiful
nothing awaits you but punishment ...
A bad booze beckons you
with a sneer of contempt ,
taking you aboard the drunken ship
drifting through the gaping bellies ,
fading voice whispering :
\'\' Why are you forsaken me ? \'\'
There is nothing to cry about what has been...
and regret what never was ...
We are merely travelers who cannot turn back ,
even we have taken the wrong past ...
the heroes fell for the country
are statistics for eternity ...
In this organized chaos ,
the corpses drift off to sleep peacefully
in the sweet rotten scent of grandma\'s jam ...
The highway to hell takes a detour
through the dark shame of the moon ...
And where there are no more blank pages
to tarnish with remorses ,
madness drops a red ink with no farewell...
That\'s how you become a cloud killer .
The anatomy of death inspires unsettling desires...