If the sun's rays are knocking at the window is just the heat of the glass to stroke your fingers and if a drop of rain knocks on the window are only vibrations to make me listen to her noise under your fingers. Its path can only imagine. Dragged, frayed. And his size is a fragment. I am no longer the walls of this room, nor the walls of this house. The borders are closed doors without handles. The locks are sewn together in my eyelids and my lips. Sew this window of a room without light. The streets are poisoned veins cuts. And the wounds are on the lips, skin, who do not speak of pain, but I read what they are, dressing and undressing before fucking soul. And those wings are too heavy. And these arms are too open for you.
) A (
"... like a phoenix ignition, like a crematorium, like a swelling volition, from the barrel of a gun, from the ashes and the embers, like a rocket I'll ascend, like a cry gone up for a fallen friend ... "
) A (
"... like a phoenix ignition, like a crematorium, like a swelling volition, from the barrel of a gun, from the ashes and the embers, like a rocket I'll ascend, like a cry gone up for a fallen friend ... "
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