---

Ground slave, without can't fall: always down.

Reasons? For what? I only see

monstrousities: In the Hashish field,

I see the Harvester.



Killing my bride in a trestle table.



When would be unleashed the hell?



Both dummies, in an incessant doubt twister,

looked as grate strangers: different ways,

immutable, and tired. She opens her legs,

and I ask her to close them.



Grate strangers.



We're out, damned, alone, and astonished,

let die and quickly.

We're as chrysalis, ready to crush and never.