Whether You Come From Heaven Or Hell,

I Sit In The Sky Like A Sphinx Misunderstood; My Heart Of Snow Is Wed To The Whiteness Of Swans; I Hate The Movement That Displaces The Rigid Lines, With Lips Untaught Neither Tears Nor Laughter Do I Know.

Today I Felt Pass Over Me A Breath Of Wind From The Wings Of Madness.

Genius Is Nothing More Nor Less Than Childhood Recaptured At Will.

But The True Voyagers Are Only Those Who Leave Just To Be Leaving; Hearts Light, Like Balloons, They Never Turn Aside From Their Fatality And Without Knowing Why They Always Say: "let's Go!

Remembering Is Only A New Form Of Suffering.