The nocturnal street
winds along, drunk on rain
hearts speak to thorns,
which sting like childhood tears.
In this morning that cuts off faded veins,
I once again find lines I had lost,
and once again find words that I thought had been thrown to the water
but they were the ones that found me...
it was them... they found me...
... they found me!
Walking on my own
through the mirrors of a maze
I believed I was tracing paths
where one could follow the passing of the days,
where one could follow... where one could follow the violent passing of the days.
Or it was them that followed me,
or it was them that followed me,
or it was them... they followed me!
... they followed me!
Or it was them that followed me,
or it was them that followed me,
or it was them... they followed me!
... they followed me!
... they followed me!
... they followed...