Running .. spend .. slip ..
like hands on a piano, like waves on the shore, as bare feet on the velvet, and lie down slowly like hands in gloves, warm wool, tossing and turning as the monsters of sleep between the covers until you find peace
find peace and fear of losing the same fear that accompanies
and laughter, silence .. losing control at the most nice and not remember anything after a while
only that the mind and soul wandered floated
things and whatever was happening was nice and warm and what remains is a dream soft and warm, it is but as a famous music played for the first time, the smell of wet grass and the wind in your hair ..
is winter spring summer autumn, is spring summer autumn and winter
is a year, month, week, day, is the birthplace of the senses and feelings of the Passover is the feast of the liberation of the mind
is the taste of wanting to remain on the lips again and again.
(Magma, Carmine Capone)