Death arrives among us all. Shouts with no mouth, no tongue, no throat. The reaper spends his life sleeping in black blankets and suddenly reaches out. We´re losing our soul and falling out of skin. Coffins under sail and figureheads with dead hair. Rotten caskets are sailing the river of the dead. Floating upstream with the sails filled with the sound of death. Cemeteries are lonely. I see graves full of bones that don´t make a sound. Like a shipwreck we drown and die in pain. Drowning in pain. Then our souls go sailing towards a port where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.