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In days stranger then
an atheist dream, where thoughts of buildings wich once were there got narrowd by instinct while
footsteps make the last noise over rocks on the road that lead to the woods.
The parfume of water is now one of rotten leaves presented by rain flowing down the hill.
As night comes in ,directions vague, instinct takes over, from here there is only you.
And you, you don't want to go back to that cold world that couldn't hear you crying, that world
that is now blind from circuslights not to enter, and you are standing in the silence of nature, the athiest dream.
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