Now the clouds are leaving from square's skies.
Some of them don't move away completely from the wall,
dandled by wind's artificial breath,
but they are the smallest ones, the less provoking maids.
The slime doesn't allow to recall.
Conscience doesn't care of ideological faiths any more.
The laptop now tired, is looking at the scene
feeling sorry for the things around.
No one managed to smile
no one tried just when he could.
Everytime none of 'em
Eyes wrapped in the plastics of a lake once blue.
there's a funeral land.
Everywhere I may go
people lose identity in a dream.
Life is getting lost in the sharp noise
of a car that has great trouble to start up.
Body sheets are dancing in the cold
shaking up long hands' exhausted nerves.
This slime doesn't allow to recall
Witnesses now fadin' in an absurd roary jam.