I feel myself like long time ago been born
to wait for the hindmost sign of the unicorn
and between each falling and each raising
I learnt to spell my longing
a kind of moan flowing through ache
or maybe just the calendar's blank page
always in a running without completion
but neverheless forever full of passion
by an unknown impetus I was forced to travel
but now I am still looking for a cradle
to put these old clothes of my life in
and step nacked in my velvety coffin