Before a yawning gulf of time he stands alone in the long-drawn evening twilight melting into the everything, swallowing darkness he stands, his soul, an empty cauterizing wound
His psyche: Oh, unbodied serpent the eye deep in thought oh, unbodied serpent full of pride and glory
In his bare hands he clasps a star a star reflected by the pure steel of this knife (and) he wonders, is the star one of his memories or a future over the yawning gulf of life?
His eyes meet the sea, his survivor and survivor of the spiral of time the wind (which blows away the time) caresses his face as a passioned gasp of breath and disturbed by images, he heard the call
His psyche: Oh, unbodied serpent the eye deep in thought oh, unbodied serpent full of pride and glory
The moon sank low under the edge of the world a sight he might never seen behind the lenses of his eyes the emptiness took place and on his body appeared a rose of the purest blood