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Imago Mortis

Enter three persons, each one dressed in White, Gray and Black. One by one, they recite their terrible speech and leave.

Me:
White one said to me how thin my life supposed to be
Gray one called it delusion
White one said that I suffer from a doomed disease
Black one called it salvation and sin

White Gray Black spinners of this vulgar fate
The thread of life is not broken yet
I defy you to rewrite your lines
Redefine my part, rearrange all this play

Why me?
Why me?
Why?

Beautiful enough, Moon arises.

Me:
Why, sister Moon?
Why do paint my fate so gray?
Why, Three-in-one?
Do reduce me to this play?

Moon invites witches.

Me:
Vida!
Vida Trágica!

Witchat:
Mítica Lógica Quântica Trágica
Pérfida Sórdida Pútrida Trágica
Mágica Cética Cínica Trágica
Lépida Lívida Lúdica Trágica

Germinal Terminal

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