Far away from the book of life.
Behind the border of visions.
Cold white palms are trying to reach the heavens.
You are hovering in the emptiness of black air.
Sounds of bygone voices are dying away.
But it's only an illusion.
Did they exist, did they exist.
When you are alive?

Black birds of misfortune are fighting inside of you.
Lacerating a veil of nature with pounces.
Dou you want to set them free?
Drawing the horizon with the charcoal of free wings.
And say goodbye to recondite mystic enigma.
Of your empty space in the fields of illusions.
Leaving a dead kiss for your yearning.
You're fatefully walking along the eternal path.

Loneliness, the essence of alter ego.
Fills your depths with a powerful stream.