Reserved, of infinite misteries.
Absorbed, in ancient pagan metaphores.
Sleeping or dreaming?
Flying or dying?
Shocks of millenary glaciers rouse the scale of impenetrable mask through a loving smile, full of fatherly love.
The understanding what flows in the mental streets, rivers that sail along limits of dark oblivions.
They spy you with terror of who wants to know, but is paralised thinking of the answers.
And you know, that of their lives, doesn't matter, but is essential in the appearance of others existances; and you, impalpable destiny, you who can, through keen prophecy, help who desires the wish to live, unaware of uselessness of that, you're touched.
What does forbid you to violate mechanisms of time and death?!
Tap the last drop from a chalice that doesn't refresh and erase occult traditions that govern, in a neverending fog, the plots of history.
But are really you who decides and knows or are you a nog in this perverse games?!