On the window, the storm of brown autumn is coming closer!
From the drawers of lost files a hope is rising,
The old tape recorder is singing my soul, it puts it on the trey!
in front of nobody...
Withered flowers, unpaid bills, sad smiles
Cowardly betrays the empty room of sound, of the subject's sanctuary
soul.

From the tiredness of the eyes the dreams flow suave and noisy:
Translations of words in images,
Translations of images into words,
The subconscious subject syllabifies it in symbols,
Through paths of meanings.
I loose myself...
Fear is a parallel sound in the sunset, with you...