How much honest you were
while climbing the stairs...

Let me write a signature
theme, without cubic...

The heritage
went for a sale. A tree...

Between life and death
a photo finish race...

A name without
a face. I am an ancestor...

The falcom rises again.
With pointed wings...

It was in reach for,
a chilling sensation...

A damp moon
staggers across the sky...

I walk through the slush
of moral grief...

The odor brings the
neo-violence, along the fault line...

It plays tricks.
Rattles the animal, inside you...

Eating each other,
the survival instinct takes you...