Children play in the saddest garden of lies
they smell the sorrow of a long forgotten event: to be born.
I was born from a mother called "nobody".
She was used to tell me
"your father won't come to you
because you're the one
who will hide your face in your hands"...
you're the last page of a book which is not to be red.
This is the edge f the forest where I'll fall
Write the last word and forget who you were
under the siege of remembrance
I drown in the night of anger.
Write the last word and forget who you were
just imagine to be an infant.

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