GOLD RUSH

There's when blind crashes against
towers and blading lovers
feeling his sensitive and fade life
into memories full of hearts:

a message that explodes
whilst a minute is lying
its cover to hide Sundays
to work in the playing.

Music rushes my ears
whilst hours involve my mind:
"Pantomime, tragic ice
reading our guy".

A mime dances on dais
expressing fishing ways
that only silence knows guard
an essence full of arcs:

The only shoot to desire.

Memory sings one more time
invoking Kronos to the feast
touching the bell just once
to be hearing by the soul:

contradiction it's just an universe
that inflicts every thing we touch and know,
anything we learn and love
with the passion of a young.

Come with me:
with the thunderbolt, over the lighting,
without fear to be pierced
in village of golden rush:

a living in the sin.