The propitiatory smog stated its territory,
Through the lingering aged pores...

The skies, almost transparent
Vacant and without a single cloud...

Why is love so powerful and so unmerciful?
When it grasps us in its choking embrace...

Love like a needle in a pincushion is often kept...
It is forbidden to desire when your knot is tied...

Imagine a legion of warriors
Hidden but willing like a fire burning deep...