If I were fire I would play alone
if I were empty I would not disappoint
the warrior monks give in to progress
they leave their masters and the geisches disappointed
they invent another way of life
child prodigies go mad
Nothing returns from the Underworld
No Dogma
They hunt at night with the sounds of sirens
they brake their wounded hands on the ice
they sing a song in the sick air
thousands of voices reciting
we are clear
Olympic souls
naked at night
lights in the morning