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How blind is the one who sees?

How dull the one who claims to knows?

For there is no greater illusion

from the concept of self-knowledge

How fallen is the one who flies?

How weak the strongest one?

For there is no returning beyond the point of

the involuntary recognition

The fear of the will-lessness

The searing anchor

How small is the greatest one?

How profoundly meaningless the most important?

For the words hide simply nothing behind them

Or do they?

How hollow is the happiest one?

How ugly the most beautiful?

For the child needs a mother

and so does the virus its host

Surrender, Fall

Entwine, Embrace

How the rise of coldest depths

brings nothing more than its painful self

For in order to bring about the light

one must know how to free the spark

Is the greatest mystery of all

hidden not within the blinding of a thought

but in the trembling sound

of the moving wings of a fly?

The fear of the will-lessness

The involuntary Recoginiton

May the anchors enter

sealing all the doors

keeping them shut

until the very rising of a dawn

The assumption of what lies behind the motion of the world?

What lies behind the motion of the world?

What lies behind the motion?

What lies behind?

What lies?

What?

Is the shoreline of all decisions

just a round-trip's starting point

and with the ticket of the utter hope

he streaches his weak arms towards the unknown

At the screen of the future

projected from the memorised past

he creates the greatest illusion

the feeling of continious existence