THE WAIT
Remembrance, oblivion, fear and serenity find themselves
on the same ground, in a strange ghatering of images: an
old man is caught between the will to survive and the desire
of leaving everything behind.
Thinking about the past he realizes that his time is coming,
greeting his life and the whole universe, so if he were
actually conscious of the fact of having existed, and existing
still: in a realm of violet twilight he smiles and unleashes
all his thoughts, playing with the four fairies on his bed.
WAR SENTENCE

Penalty paid for non-committed crimes, I find myself
in a situation I can't understand.
I am drilled here to fight, kill and hate,
slaying people that I don't hate and Know.
We're just numbers to replace until exhaustion,
they say I shouldn't have escaped death.
I should have faced the enemy (but who's the enemy?),
why you decided who's got to be my victim?

War sentence is Death sentence,
I died for not defending your interests.
War sentence is Death sentence,
before the martial court I'm one in thousands.

War sentence is Death sentence,
How many innocents have to pay?
War sentence is Death sentence,
our countries just want all we bleed.

ALEPH

The stentorian, sublime, irrational nothingness lurks
behind anyone's eyes, waiting to be explored.
The loss of the whole imagination, a step towards madness:
the refusal to follow the steep backward spiral would be a
tranquil, catholic consolation...
More subversive would be the conscious leap in the next,
unknown dimensions, less comfortable wombs of doubt
(or acquiescence of Nature's spirit). Only destroying
pre-constructed paths mankind would discover the answere
that has been searching for: no answers.
No regrets.

SANDS OF TIME

Sweet unconsciousness left these rooms,
what's been spared of sacred pains?
(frames of) chaos in the sight; distance will dig 'em a grave.

Those precious thoughts tremble now, they desecrated your private space.
The choice is to live or die-mistakes are all mankind's shade.
No one should suffer, a defeat to our doom,
while the earth-it calls-obscyred by its conscience gloom.
Cancerous the act to ignore pulsions inside,
as we silently watch the flow of the sands of time.

Son of man, planets refuse their dying.
Contemplative acts blessed by no god.
Son of man, trace the path you'll own-breathe on.

Some accept suicide as an act of cowardness,
reflection leads to a wisdom those ones just neglect.
Emotions beyond reason, self struggling bringer of change,
I explored the universe not to justify but to understand.

Twilight breaks the statis, suddenly are taken away
crypts of solitude, the alienation's domain.
The inner vault of feelings blinds and forces us to stay,
forces to remember men who tried and failed.

(Silence speaks-an apparent contraddiction,
faces reveal themselves as they are.
Sadness-it creates other points of view,
the key belongs to my own god-me)

OBLIVION (a door ?...)
The legacy of christendom is not easy to elude;
the passing itself is assumed to be the supreme dogma,
the unquestionable truth.
But different visions live in my mind.
A man approaches to the edge of a cliff,
fixing a closed doo-out of time, out of space,
in the whole nakedness of his sensations-facing the void below.
He wonders if opening that door could mean the end of 2000 years
of lies or the definitive passage to another existance.
Finally, he decides to move and stares beyond the door.