After drawing a self-portrait,
I want you to believe...

Planet earth,
they have stopped moving with me like clouds...

Don't go brutal in the veins
blood is diluted...

We always searched for the center,
the dark hole of a naked mind...

A heap of voices hails you, when you stop
in the tract...

Self-searching was most difficult for me
one by one the years had gone by...

Silent go the dead
on the moon...

It was fear and anguish.
You were talking about evil. Returning...

Like burning coals on the tongue
the words smoulder the ardour...

No ending of the story. The loose thread hangs.
Journey again starts at the termination...

The sludge rattles as you tilt on one side
heat and dust swirl around you...

We did not concede,
textured life was absurd...