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My brain works very well
Free from veils that could break it
I'm free to do what I want
To hate who I want
Not to share opinions, but respect who doesn' t see with my eyes

Green eyes, unsure
I envy who doesn' t see as I see, like animals
But who's right?
Are the colours of the world really these, or what I see is not real?

But what does "real" mean?
Perhaps reality is only the function of death
Maybe I'm dead and I'm waiting for a life that finally will arrive
When somebody' ll steal my heartbeats

Heart, this strange beating organ
That pumps blood in our veins
And purifies it from trash

Or maybe is really the heart that infects our blood
Allowing and forcing us to spend a long death before life?

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