I don't remember my face I don't count wrinkles I have never created idols For worshipping and hating them I keep terrible secrets Of those who are gone When clay knocked their coffins I was standing alone... If I could see the absence of a sense... If I could hear but not listen... If I could know life is so empty... A curtain would drop earlier... It feels like strings vibrating Somewhere inside of me... The source of my life pulsates Deep in inner devouring horror... A torrent of words reflecting my thoughts Falls by downpour unto me... I behold a world of parallels Painted by withering imagination... Now I set free the warm of life Through a door closed so long ago Now I get used to feel cold I escape this reality... Ruined...