tabaco smashed on the table
sticky signs of degradation process
eyes that try to catch the running image
words that never reach their meaning
too much too intensive and too self concentrated
alcohol egoism mixed with smoke
no longer will we hold our hands
no longer will we fill our dreams up
you will push me away
and i will run away shutting the door behind me
waking up
tabaco smashed on the table
the huragan of cloaths on the floor sugests you
that yesterday something went wrong
broken promisses
and lost words
collect what is left
and organize it
in the evening again you will be captured
by the mysterious urge to destroy what is beloved
dreaming
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