Walk, walk, walk...
Stop!
Change the pace.

Moonwalk's in,
Moonrocks-out.

Moon-flavoured pills are the highest price for the initial trip,
To the square waves trapped inside the last matrioshka,
Folded into golden star-fruits.

Stop, stop, stop...
Walk!

The more one stuns, awaiting for the mirrored wonder,
The steeper his stairs to heaven become.
In the mirrors, no water is pouring, except for the sweat,
Unique bond for the thought collage.

Change the place!

Head towards the blue,
Wiping all the blue images trapped in a neuronic prison.
Unshackle the chairs,
As they need to change their place.
You have traded real blood for ketchup,
intensely red ketchup.

So...
Mourn over the death of your sisters, the tomatoes,
as your heroes fall into the obsolete,
deep, dark,
like the night sky.

but, who needs real stars,
when neon lights are everywhere?