| My mood is like the weather
|
| it changes with unexpected ways
|
| creating a mosaic
|
| based on the antithesis
|
| of cold and warm colours
|
| If you could read in my eyes
|
| you would discover a shade of grey
|
| when I smile
|
| because even when (I am) collecting
|
| moments of happiness
|
| my mind descends in my shrine
|
| to pray in front of the candle of life.
|
| And its flesh parts are slowly melting
|
| slipping down like white worms.
|
| (The) walls around are decorated
|
| with nailed butterflies.
|
| Each one a happy thought,
|
| pretty but old and lifeless.
|
| The thirst for joy is never gratified |