It's so improbable to find the light,
When clouds are rubbing me
Words run creating hatred scrawl,
Streets have nothing more to ask
When I relive this Pain
Chessmen have a unique colour,
And the Clash begins
I feel all the moves,
I know all the moves,
But I can't expect them:
'cause I'm the battlefield
My feeble profile seems to implode,
My aural prison becomes the perfect hiding place
View is overturning
To this internal Abyss,
Where
My withered leaves burn
And mirrors have nothing left to reflect