When the savior dawn arrives, I will not be there… At least in the way you might think. Your countenance will have clung to your own everlasting trivialities and the old man will start singing that secular chant with which he veneers all the gods in a delusional desperation.
Because what seems to be sobs, are timid grins, wrapped with an infinite sorrow… from a dyed contentment, shallow and empty like the precious jar, whose only aim has just been to pretend. It will be the moment… the moment when the music will play no more… the moment… when at last, the tears will be honest, liquid stars falling with the sea of a pure sentiment… the moment when the echoes and the eclipses will unveil the postponed liberation… mixed with pain and exile making your guts feel in harmony for the very first time in the succession of your mistaken waits. The pain that will tear you apart… in one million of pieces… pieces that will not be part of you anymore…
Each kiss, each word… each dedicated rictus, become the greatest torments because I can’t chase the wind… The battle is uneven… I am disarmed… already surrendered… The victory does not matter, because soon, my breath will be banished and my cape will not let my fly anymore…
Heaven dances with hell. The harmless little birds will never sing again. There is a huge sadness that made them be non believers. They understood that no matter how many lullabies are sung, everything goes in the wrong direction, all the things will end even before they started…
And surrounded by irrefutable proves that we try to destroy, we continue staring at something we can’t see and so lost imagining a better future, aware though that in truth, the only event awaiting us is called: decadence.
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