"Catharsis. Someone in the night write about heartbreak stories. Tales in music and languages of all the world. However, nothing it is important now. We are part of the forbidden world where the eyes are dry for mourn. Crying and crying to held in the bed the silence and the contempt. -"You have not right to reduce my pain. I know that you read these lines with a withe flower in your hair while you masturbate with my memory and my sadness your body", it is the cry of the mountain under the rain, submitted to the weariness, with the impossibility of a simple oblivion.
Somewhere in a country without a real name to remember the landscapes in love. Tears and drops disguised the promises and breath. At the end, it is not true that the love is important. Satisfaction is the only thing to be cruel and tender. Reasons to find the only thing to unbalance the time of the lovers in the sunset. -"This is the straw that broke the cup. I know that you read these lines written with my tears in the only skin, while you scream of pleasure.", it is the simple phases to call the daemon of the night. The same daemon named love. My old love.
Catharsis. A second in the time I love you. Three minutes in the past I hate you. And now, in a night when the end of the times are not arrived, not yet, I write about you. A white flower in the hair and the moment to think in the times that are not come one more time. Yes. There are stories that should not happen."
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