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We as empty skulls say:
Mere observers, thinkers or simple buffoons.
Bask in a portrait of none
And the stupidity of “sin”
Avoid life at all coast
In reversed death
And stay forlorn, since the last glow
Will murk an eternal path of mist

here we foresaw a forest
from where all sorts and manners of books crawled
no class they had. Such and irreverence for words...
what do we have if not for words, what do we have if not for howls?

monocle wearing books smoke pipes of eyes
chatting over cups of elegant tongues
they speak in pages drowned not for us to understand
while in fact they offer us logic and understanding
they offer the placebo of knowledge
such a marvelous gift it was
such a shame it is that it is not what we seek anymore
who cares for intelligence anymore? sense is for fools

vigilance is of such importance in the shelf of lives
its tomes are so precious, passing a page can pass a dimension.
boring it grows the talent of seeing oneself
(can you)you can imagine it as fucking a mirror for ever
we know our other facets on other planes
when we danced on a dying sun
or swam in a black hole
when some universes collided with salads
in the nether realm of sandals
an atlas of godlike garbage erupted.

the buttons are called for by the empty skulls
oracles of oracles
the owners of the remote control of the cosmos
for the skulls call for a new tale
of oranges and leopards in wigs
a manifesto of absurdity, an ode to lunacy
a merry go round to the most feared state of time

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