I lay on thorns in my bed of roses, my friend is a voodoo doll that hastens the evil, i fall asleep on stories made by bare poles, candlelight shadows on ashes of a burning heart that cries for apathy, for some illusion, some taste of true love...
I'm spreading diseases of my incredible utopias, i poisoned the harmless feelings
I breathe...
I seek...
I need...
I despise ill-time courtesy
I mistrust - your trust
My rush on watching myself grow...
To throw an iron made heart to the confort of open sores, to rummage on memories that aim to take me down, I believe in the box i keep my coldness, infirmity and my so naive lust...
- 2000-