The vertigo of an infinite existence.
The smile riding some passing teeth.
The crunchy sound of trees falling after my walk.
I crawl on carpets of moisture, ash and broken bones.
Behind: a world that was forest, a man who was a child, a soul shining.
I pursue intense flavors in meadows devoured by black fire.
In my hands: remains of a time that was life.
The drink of the gods lies in abandoned forest, where the man who was a child
harvest your madness.
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