Nights like tonight are not made.

They are born while I plow through with the Chevrolet Darling.

It’s already a few weeks I’m having this sort of melancholy.

Crawling back from a far away place inside the folds of my brain.

Reading novels written for illiterates no doubt.

Stream of thought greys, ocras and dark greens.

Films for depraved made in lead, mud, chalk and diamonds.

Music resembling the shout of a beast slaughtered, warhowler heartbreaker.

I have been forged in darkness, and never feared it.

When you fear, you push away.

You don’t actually see what you fear.

Truth is: bathing in the sun for too long can bruise you.

Sight and sound black as your eyes.

Dead this night.

For I can’t bear them alive.

Music. Sound. Machine running the miles.

I don’t remember anymore the nightbirds, the endless typing, the epic journeys made with fog fanning out.

I know who I am.

I don’t know who I was, who you thought about in the dead of the night when all was said and done.

I feel just the endless road built and destroyed where my children are resting.

For I had many children, wouldn’t you know.

They were the most fair: dark eyes, dark hair, white teeth gleaming in warning for mother sleeps soundly and needs not to be disturbed.

Still my car is running in the dead of the night.

Past gas services, past lives and deaths, past people and creatures made from a faulty deity who forgets and never really forgives me for my sins.

And thus the guitar sounds like the end of a world born in the dark.

And the clear tenor screeches notes of ireFire.

Been dazed and confused for so long it’s not true…[…]
Don’t know where you’re goin’
Only know just where you’ve been