DRG

It is always the same song, the same spectator trying to find the solution, as always a tragedy that has a fine not happy seeing the laughter of the old gods, the favors are finished once gave way to faith, men seek further explanations, where only doubt prevails, where the words are nothing but lies, there remains no more than pain and blurred images. Without wishing to talk to anyone, knowing that words are like knives in wartime, only time can cure loneliness, tears that do not get even that pain is deep despair which invites the hatred that feeds the mind of men, when the time is never enough left over to reach a conclusion, hurtful words that make no sense to others and who do not deserve any attention, but still are painful and which make knives.

Attachment to a ephemeral world which nourishes our desires and ambitions to pray camber stuff. The search for a Utopian happiness, where humanity is against all, seeking control, finding false facts, creating new protocols, modified to make it simple and easy life.

Nothing to lose and a less to gain, the potential disappears, like the illusions when the light stops have the same intensity and things do not have the same taste, but still lives on death seem even more enjoyable to be breathing. Angeles who want to tear out their wings, exorcise demons and gods want you need to kill, just to feel something like life itself, knowing that only an Opiate. Blood is washed by rain, wounds that do not close, punishments seem to have no end in time of the men. Drinks that distort and give the opportunity to think of things that do not regularly think.

An angel without wings is not just a man without dreams and hopes. A man without demons is just one without fears. And a dead god gives way to more gods