It was a marathon race of
timeline. The days are bound and shot...

You loosen the grip
and let go the bank...

In searing heat, on
the fern path...

This spectrum.
No it will not work...

It was punctuated night.
You sleep into wakefulness...

The living dead are going to
ask for the right to be...

Your interpretation
was a miracle of...

Wearing the red bandanna,
you tried to manipulate the bedrock...

The heartwood had the ingrained
dream map, to reach the...

You to whom, I
am lost, the remaining pain...

Salt-of-the lips.
You never know, how it hurts...

Arithmetic becomes poetry,
when you start counting the stars in Milky Way...