Fleeing from her bite
the giddy kitten of clock...

Time is spiral like a record
and now is the needle...

Horizon is the
paradox of arrival...

The blood of whom they
worship: the blood of those they...

The nature of dream
is wakefulness...

She noticed her face
was a mask amongst many...

How I float on the flow of this music,
how I realize I am a share in this music...

Watch the mirage of
your question in the distance...

They looked down upon him in dirt in derision.
They never saw him they saw themselves...

How heavy and how
impatient is the river...

Just for an aeon
I am left, in this moment...

Parallels are delusion
otherwise, roads were endless...