Should I write or sing,
the melancholy of my days...

There is life surrounding us,
like evil eyes that waits for our down fall...

She spoke of my existence as if
my birth was a collision of seasons...

The air around fought back to keep me trapped by...
Where no holy beings found consolation to lighten...

I wrote you a secret,
a single word...

We never liked each other,
but yet, considered as brothers...

I watch,
I cry...

Art is speaking from the heart,
language which make skinny people feel fat...

There is a door that's open
but we have to break in, just the same...

You can put out the fire but never put an end to...
The one who did not rise to the dignity of fire...

My eyes hurt, a painful reflection,
it's a state of art, my fantastic imagination...

Simple yet so meaningful
Far but feels so closer...