About

“Repeating with dead variables, the heat contained in the counting Writing down pitiful monologues with nowhere to send them Terror mistaken for an electric shock mixes into the veins Behind the thick smoke of fine particles, a black chain-sickle follows Even if I delete it, delete it, delete it, delete it Delete it, delete it, delete it, delete it It won't go away A throat long since crushed, the screamed sounds no longer form a line Upon the easy chair, a rotted crescent moon is laughing It's almost there, almost there, almost there, Almost there, almost there, almost there, Almost there, almost there Something is coming People who set fire to the flag of salvation after crying out loud And skeletons who kiss their collections and willingly shut themselves in coffins Again, something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong, Something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong, Something's wrong, something's wrong So they whispered If there were a utopia where everyone was saved for eternity The boat boarded by adults who said so in unison exploded A black star, a black star, a black star, a black star A black star, a black star, a black star, a black star Is watching them The wailing flash stabs the eyes, the bell of farewell rings The answer concluded by the history God made tastes like sand Repeating with dead variables, the heat contained in the counting Questioning a star the color of someone's clear eyes Sorrow that can no longer be gathered eventually flows down and becomes salt Prayer, suffering, sympathy, even pity will soon have a price Now, even if I turn my back, turn my back, turn my back Turn my back, turn my back, turn my back, turn my back The screams I hear clearly A fish that admonishes that letting go of happiness is the aesthetic Swims in the sea of self-consciousness, the smell of spilled blood hangs thick A black star, a black star, a black star, a black star A black star, a black star, a black star, a black star Is watching me Repeating with dead variables, the heat contained in the counting Writing down pitiful monologues with nowhere to send them Crying cells return to the sea, sleep-talk clings As if tracing the trajectory drawn by a swallow, gray clouds are coming Begging for tomorrow with woven honor, hands are stained with hope Questioning a star the color of your clear eyes If we could hold hands and love each other, I'll kill the dream that finally didn't come true The end of thought, a heat abnormality is occurring in its center It's not real, this isn't real, this isn't real This isn't real, I can't stand this A throat long since crushed, the screamed sounds no longer form a line Upon the easy chair, a rotted crescent moon is laughing It's already almost there, almost there, almost there, Almost there, almost there, almost there, Almost there, almost there Something is coming” A world after the extinction of humanity__ Or so it should have been, but for some reason, a human was there. Why that human is alive, and how they survived, is a mystery. __How will you spend your time?