Be Young Forever, Seasons Of

In A Room Where People Unanimously Maintain A Conspiracy Of Silence, One Word Of Truth Sounds Like A Pistol Shot.

Only A White-haired Old Man, Who Would Be A Prophet Yet Is Not A Prophet, For He's Much Too Busy, Repeats While He Binds His Tomatoes: No Other End Of The World Will There Be, No Other End Of The World Will There Be.

And Now I Am Ready To Keep Running When The Sun Rises Beyond The Borderlands Of Death. I Already See Mountain Ridges In The Heavenly Forest Where, Beyond Every Essence, A New Essence Awaits.

Consciousness Even In My Sleep Changes Primary Colors. The Features Of My Face Melt Like A Wax Doll In The Fire. And Who Can Consent To See In The Mirror The Mere Face Of Man?

I Was Left Behind With The Immensity Of Existing Things. A Sponge, Suffering Because It Cannot Saturate Itself; A River, Suffering Because Reflections Of Clouds And Trees Are Not Clouds And Trees.