Soul: it exists, it does not gets old, it just gets... tired. But we'll feel this later, much later.

How precise I have to be? And where is the boundary beyond which comes unnecessary perfectionism?

Muted strat - what could be better for a quiet holiday for one?

Tango, yeah... It often seemed to appear as displaying the life itself, but in reality it's just... ~tired passion~

Where to go away everything that we created? To nowhere, I guess. So, the show goes on. Or: tomfoolery all the way, yeah!

My dedication to all the night people. ~Midnight, alone, you~

Who to believe? relatives, who drop out over time? loved ones, that dissolve in the night? yourself one, without being sure of anything? to a stranger who disappears at the same moment? Perhaps the question itself is not correct.

As if I was a tree, And would stand in the woods, Taking the rain and the snow. As if I was a tree, Standing in the field, Looking at the eternal movement of the clouds. As if I was, as if ...

~Slowly the rivulet flows, paving the way~

Ici le temps est absent. --- for Trevor