Too many stars fall on our eyes
Useless words get wasted every moment
to protect lazy religions
I feel my heart getting inflamed with blood
while the sand-glass slowly turns to
stupid pawns programmed for breathing
Everything looks unchanged:
the solution of an aenigma which is late in coming

An umpteenth godlike creature
leading you to Toyland
where everything, everything smells of sadness
and nothing allows you to look at it

But are we the ones who thoroughly move
thanks to the promise of another frame
before we start dying once again?

Too many stars fall on our eyes

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