you choose a rotten word and
the house steps aside
to make place for a cheap street.

at the entrance of the dream
we know every time we are vanquished
by a thorn above us,
and we repent as we are blessed.

Edgar finds us in the maelstrom
we're pouring down the music
catched in a bottle from ancient times.

children are ready to leap with a cry
into the memory holes; a daydream is enough
to turn round the whole machinery
which hangs on my last piece of sun.

every time we see our relatives' mourning
we reach the morning speed
and we stand up and hit the earth three times...