The skies who fell apart,
are the holes who started
the beatings back in our heart...

We're all children of the same death
wretched desciples of the same faith
fading and growing so great
with our post mortem dreaming,

We are the same blade grown wild
of the same stubbing knife
killing the innocence in the child
and the child in the womb of life,

we are the same eyes selling deceit,
the same mouth selling the lips,
putting on the market the weep
and in the stores the sweetness
grown in the kiss,

we are the crows
who grow far away
on that stairs leading to nowhere,
the unwritten laws
and the unwritten signs warning
"beware",

we are the cute bulldogs
ogres of the modernist cultures,
we are the victims of democracy
with the killing instinct
deepen in the claws of the vultures,

we are the drugs,
the effect,
the logs in the journal
acknowledged post mortem,

the wax figures sculpted by gods
in the simplicity
of the bones of dead soldiers,

we are the smiles in the backs of the head,
and the howling risen to the wings
as the feathers,
we are the friends of the friends
of our friends
So as we are the taste of the kill
in the mind of the predators,

we are the tyrants under the skin of the sheep
the dictators of the grin disappointment,
the ecstasy of Seth hidden deep
within the slim facade
of our invisible torment,

we are the angels,
daughters and sons of the twilight,
the strangers among strangers,
the nightmare standing still on the bed side,

we are the loved ones
and the hated ones
by the snowflakes into the winter,
the naked ones blurring our crimes
just as we pull away from our fingers
a splinter,

we are the messiahs of lust,
and the skeletons of the chain of evolution,
the ones you can put you life in their palm,
the ones you can trust,
the pile, in the matter of state
of every non born yet institution,

we are the children of Christ
and the nephews
of the more popular Antichrist,

We are the break on the dawning,

we are a piece of heaven
very well sliced,
dressed in the clothes belonging
to the gods of the mourning,

we are the files with the "classified" tag
thrown in some corner of illusion,
far away on some cloud
in some galaxy dressed in a number,
bearing the surname of "constitution",

we are the ones that never ceased to exist,
on the peak of some arrow,
the grasp filled with hate of some fist,

We are the children
you, the one with no name and no face,
you can barrow...