terça-feira, 9 de novembro de 2010


There are lights on the floor.
They are blinding us.
We can't smell the fear.
The dark can't scare us.

High we can do it better.
High lights, vultures, crambling.

I can see the danse of the stars.
I can stay high.

Burning heat, dont get up.
Burning cold, cover me.

Echoes of people reflex walking, running, jumping.

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