Bones and a brain,
Clothes of skin with pin holes.
Staring to grasp the the time that they've lost.
A secret nothingness, dark silence its essence,
Hostile and numb, the soul has become.
As the sad runs down,
he forgets to invert the Glass,
The day and nights pass...
A cube of light, of picture and sound.
The compelling visions, its sorry side.
The Lion King dies,
The reflection of a tear on the screen,
But no lips move and the stream of thought
The sand was far before emptied.
The soul does not die.
There is a conversion.
A black hole...A hole.
Devouring anything and taking its color.
The child inside never got a chance to breathe
To feel the breeze.
To know where is he,
And be what he wanted to be.
A new order of these children,
The followers of the Pillar of light.
It gives them a reason to live.
Their world to conceive.
A minute, tender hole.
Thats all...their soul.
When the plug is pulled off,
They know not what to find out.
Piece after piece.
The jigsaw falls down.
The pillar no longer sound.
No longer able to hold the falling pieces down.
The face in the darkened screen is unfamiliar.
The sand has flowed too long,
And they let themselves drown.
no call of distress.
No one to answer the call.