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dress the most gloomy ravine your worst nightmare, they are all worth it, and repress all the bitterness that built up every single day, are a bomb ready to explode, and when you least expect it: happen ... I shall return in your life, albeit briefly, destroying everything you have built, and then, like everyone else .. I hate you too and I repudiate.

Few hold this pressure, only they are saved .. These people, I call them friends.

But you, dummy crowd of known faces, disgusting orgy of false beings .. Massa aimless orbit around me pretending to be part of my real life .. You, repulsive souls .. You make me sick. He is a bit 'of time that I started to sort the ideas to realize the fleeting nature of our relationship. I try, I used, let me wish your toy .. And then, without even thinking, I almost voluptuously thrown to the ground, not cure you of my feelings, without the yoke that makes me treat you to you ... I hate it so much that they become implicit source of my pain ...

Why? Why, I wonder ...

for those seeking to be appreciated, as you try to be accepted, you all make fun of me.
But I swear today, I am & the witnesses, I will do everything possible to find out which of you is hidden under the ethereal blanket of lies, and when you find .. I swear I will stab me where you hurt, and I will do the same with violence, with the same malice ... I swear that I will regret having betrayed my trust. I swear. And when you
also be put to the same pain I have inflicted, to plead to silence the cry of my icy nemesis, ask apology that will never be accepted, uttered prayers we will never hear. Beating his fist to his chest, looking proud of who rises from the defeat crying, I swear:

I will have my revenge.

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We were alone in the shade of the weeping willow. It was me and my harmonica.
tunes a melody ever written, dictated by the sadness of a moment. The thoughts assailed me as the point of death, I thought about everything and anything, the more or less, to the best and the worst.

Suddenly I saw in the distance, reappeared as well as it ever was. My life, with all its imperfections due to the companies that I never wanted, the people with whom I have pretended for far too long to get well. I put the instrument

nell'astuccio mp3 player and I started a kind of shamanic journey in the music world more dismal.

Sometimes you stop to think of not being understood, just as this music.
Then I lifted and I forget everything, I use hatred as an eraser that erases the pain. They play

Opeth, one of those songs, "all equal", but I recognize this, and Hessian Peel.
I put my headphones and turn up the volume to maximum. I feel at home.

I almost lost it, I let myself be carried away by the waves of music as a castaway from the sea.
I think and think, look and then think again. In the end I come to a conclusion:
these people is not so as I see it. They are all prissy in appearance, women are rigged, the men filled with hair gel, are always dressed like fashion says. When I go look at me almost with horror, I see the contempt that strikes me as the splinters of a grenade. I always dress in black, mistress of the night and dark tunnels. I, the beast of metal, I do not understand the "right way" to dress, to be, to listen, speak and do. So I am not going good for society, which are scum because I dress the way I like and not like someone else said, that they are scum because I hate, abhor even the disco, I speak with a vocabulary large and sometimes archaic, I love the solitude and reflection at all times. It's not them, so perfect people to dress all "according to law," who do things because someone else does, they think with one big collective brain, which work only to then throw away without knowledge, without a care in the future, without even knowing who we really are and what they really want.

Cogito, therefore, in my twisted mind, a sort of theater with 6 billion players. I watch him play outside because they do not know, I have been sidelined.

Say, recited. Sooner or later we all die, and when it's my turn, I will be happy to have, as opposed you, lived every moment of my dreary existence and marginalized, while you pretended to be what you've never been, and indeed, never will be.

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false friends To my friend of myself crying

Immersed in the deep sea of \u200b\u200bthoughts, in a sort of temporary tangible apocalypse, when the lights of the day engage in the usual way that distinguishes the crossroads of the day from the night, I reached a troubled awareness of my state of being. The clock ticked the seconds ticking with the usual pounding, that if we heard directed in trans with a violence that does not allow any defense. He was complicit silence that tedious, that the hours passed he became like a warm blanket that wraps up my feelings, my moods, protecting them from a life that no longer belongs to me, which is outside the dark room, I seem to have forgotten by now.

The sun is gone, the blue sky has given way to a dance of nostalgic colors like slaves are dragged behind the darkness that slowly envelop city. Un'ancestrale sadness pervades my unconscious, I feel a presence near, but are home alone. I close my eyes and relax for a moment, the deep feeling is accentuated without stopping, the rest dying in bed, gazing at the window. I feel, is here. It 's here with me. She stares at me constantly, with a warning glance ... M'incute fear, but the voids in the eye to understand: she is my life. She has knocked on doors of my mind for more than two hours. I rebel, I call in aid the ticking of the ancient tool that fearless, without doubt an instant, I still rails against a thousand and one thousand strokes, taking me in a state of sleep-wake cycle. I smile quietly without even knowing it. She wanted me with him but I lost ... For now ...

Darkness have welcomed me, I feel home. Walk out the door and find myself in a dark forest, I was not home, I was in a cabin on the lake. I do not know exactly where I am, but I will not go away. I see an indomitable moonbeam to break through the clouds and pierce the darkness.

But what spells cruelty can be right now?
I feel at home but no one, I'm comfortable but I am alone.
I see a figure in the distance coming down a hill. E 'shadow family, almost formless at first, but as you look back on the distance, I can see my eyes. I'm frigid, but sad icy, almost violent, as you look at the absolute feeling of being a murderer. Not me, not so. "Go away!" the intimate, but does not seem to hear me, come, is getting bigger, and its steady pace resembles the striking of the latter. No sign of stopping, come before me with frost and stop staring into his eyes.

looked down the hill and I noticed a ghostly look, reminded me a lot myself and I decided to go down to meet him. I was almost pain, stared at him, I did not know who it could be. This was my world, my and mine alone. I had created for rifugiarmici when I needed it most, but almost ghostly presence that had dared to violate it. By what right then ... The my steady pace gives me security, I am sure I can do it in leave.
getting closer and closer I came to my hut, and there, motionless, staring at me with a look full of feeling. My moonbeam dazzles him, he raises his arm to try to shelter from excessive radiation, and the first intellectual figure assumes a shape and color. I look with horror, or rather, I saw in him.

"It can not be," I thought, bringing his hand between me and the moon ...

"It can not be" I thought, staring at my reflection in the ether ... scared

And instead so, I'm not myself, I'm only a part of me: first, a facade.
slowly begins to return consciousness, the lake disappears, the moon becomes dark, it all comes back black. The darkness is about to cancel quell'ascetico moment in favor of persecution that shadow that follows me from dusk.

Yes, I take note, I'm not myself. They are split in two by the loneliness, bitterness, from the violent struggle between love and hate that every day we fight in me, between peace and violence, between right and wrong.
That part of me, so soulful, charismatic leads me to love in the most ancient and savage.
That part of me, so rational, cold as ice but at the same time pure and clear as water from a mountain spring, that part makes me cunning and perseverance, and the part of me that is generated as a result of grief and pain, is the sad part of me that is required to shield me from the outside world, is that part of me pawing and fighting to the death if necessary.

a resurrection after death and the door to fight again.

I did this, they are like Janus, the two-faced God, I have two sides to look also at the back, two sides can only be distinguished by looking.

But who? Who is really watching you behind if not a friend? A real friend, a friend who unfortunately is missing me, a friend who might not I never had and never will be. And so, for a fatal coincidence, the duality that is present in my mind, makes me the only friend I can trust, the only friend that I look back.

Therefore, in tacit agreement between myself, I decided to be sadly, the only friend of myself.

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Night

Warm Canto
Orchestra resounds in the air that my heart does not beat you over
Song D'Angelo echoes the street
Gall played with plectrums jade

sleepless nights, tears and sadness
Feeling So, with tant'amarezza

Heart of a woman moaning in pain I hear you cry
I do not know how to do
Towards a tear, nestled between the lines
All a bit 'equal but different
ALSO
Soft punishment, crude
heat that suffocates the day all the pain
Slowly you say, everything is raises
Sadness on the heart, like a veil that remains

rain beating, the wind that blows
Leave a CounciI, which will guide me
It's cold outside, but inside freezes
Even my soul sadness sailing

Chill formless and crying silently vanishes
dark, everything ends

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You and I together again, in the fleeting moment

I see in the greyness of the sky, a tear that reaches the glass from which rhythmic contemplates the sadness of this day. Like her other ten, hundred, thousand and one thousand more enchanting shatter under my eyes. Saddened
I'm there, perched on the windowsill, watching with what grace and composure of the sky knows how to cry without making a sound. Piano notes, ear, make me remember the futility of my existence.

"Living? Dying? No.. Being."

be: nothing but a desire for youth that now I find impossible to implement. But now what has been done you can not change it anymore. I remain astonished that in undertaking the practice will make this immortal moment in my memory and there you gently grazed, catches me by surprise.

did not expect you, do not even imagine .. After years of our separation again here you are before me. How many questions I would like to bring up everything and anything .. But I know that you could not answer me .. After all, my dear, you are nothing but an abstract image of what I rejected years ago .. I still remember that moment when drowning in the solitude of a second, I tortured .. You loved to take me to the uncomfortable memories, pleasant but sad knowing that I would end up accepting them as such. Memories of happy moments that allowed me to feel jealous and think about what was and what I had been. I turned, and mercilessly slammed my hand on your face. You fell to the ground and I I heard he died. That was the first time I saw you ... It was also the last before now. What a strange coincidence ... I know that I could not recognize faces that I see every day .. But they still remember your features, are unmistakable ..
Malice in your eyes .... I hate ..
With that gesture, I wanted the damned, I did not want more than "being." "Being", as well as all the other people I saw with my eyes still without any experience .. A truly sad was that in which they were the protagonists in a moment of happiness .. And I forced solitude, I bask in the dummy to believe to be like them .. I knew it was not so, but I wanted to lie to myself to protect myself from the pain of life in a hermitage.

If I then, I will put up a cynical smile on his face. I wanted to be like them, happy puppet in the hands of fate. And this has made my desire to give you up becoming what they are now.
However, the condemnation of that which I have made a gift to hurt me. I still feel the chill of a corpse in the sleepless nights I spent, I still hear your cry behind the dark corners of the streets .. Sometimes it runs, I admit. But when I get are not there anymore.

A faint, cold breeze brushes my neck .. I do not feel the shivers .. Your condemnation has deprived me of this possibility .. Luck? Not really. He left only room for one thing: infinite sadness. I've abandoned the very moment where I had to hold more. The ego of a human being has given way to a last, hoarse comment on the question that I felt about your actual use to me.

Wounds that never heal, a void that might almost want to go out with the sun at dusk ..

sense of anger suddenly invade me, spit hits you like a bullet.
I hate you, I hate you!
Get out ..

angel wings sweep the rain, it breaks with my grotesque afraid to rejoin you.

like hell because now, without you, I am damned, and as such, I need to suffer to feel alive.

E cosi oggi, anima mia.. Io e te nuovamente insieme, in quest'attimo fugace.

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Let it hurt

Bitter day of blood and rain,
When darkness doesn't want to leave this reign,
It strongly comes like a knight in the fight,
It dashes like a crow in the crowd.

It enwraps around my body,
It flows through my veins.

Steam in this chamber,
Vacuum elsewhere.

I glazed it, so no one else could see it any more,
But I still wonder how you can do it.

Clock strikes six in the morning, sky is dark yet, old fashioned lamps on the main street light me like admonishing judges sat at court.

Rain stops and disappears, powder raises from nowhere.

Sound of bells rings in the dust, ground quakes. Azure fades from black, I look at it and see the only thing I cannot forget from my youth.

I forsake my sorrow for a while. Hard to believe, but sunrise is one of two things which make me happy.

Black, holy wings of a damned cover me again. The tragical destiny of the one who died for his own will is to taste happiness just once in a thousand years.

...This is it, it comes again...

"Shhhh quiet, quiet..Don't cry..You're just dying..just again."

Wind whispers words of repentance, my black hat flies away. I can feel my hair shakin' in the air. Dark veil descends over me.

It enwraps around my body,
It flows through my veins.

I gave up so many years ago, so nowadays I not even bother.

Don't warry, let it hurt.. I'm used to this.

Sky comes gray, and rain lavishly falls again.

I turn back and start walking over this mud.
I can see a statue gazing at me, I'm sure it wants to kill me, but it's too late, and sneering I disappear.

Cemetery. It's like it was awaiting for me, I look down and have a sigh, then I pass those gates which make me feel home. I close my eyes and walk over the field, then I sadly smile and when I feel the soil becoming soft, I stop. And as I do every time I die, I open my eyes for the last time and see my name on that forgotten grave.

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It's time to reach an agreement

I can still remember it.. It was a dark, strange night.. I thought: "It's not possible" and proceeded on my way. I knew that day could be one of my last ones, I knew I was playing Russian roulette with 5 bullets in my 5 bullets drum.

I knew cause I shot myself. Once, twice...and then three, four and five times on. I didn't cry, I didn't shout, I really deserved to do it but the whole moment has been too quick.

I fall on my knees and have my last breath, the strange consciousness of the second is amazingly peaceful..

But why?
Why I have been so stupid to shoot myself? And why, when I randomly shot that first bullet, I tried again..
It was like I liked that idea of playing with my life, well knowing that I was going to certain death.

Bloody rainfall onto my grave, snow melts astonished. I killed my self with my own hands and now the cold rock seems to become a warm, scarlet heart which gathers all the feelings I lost that day.

Glade spoils slowly, fall wants revenge on colour and life.
But there is a place in which autumn already passed and winter reigns undisputed.
That place is hidden but shown,
That place is shown but glazed,
That place is seen but looked through.

Here it is...I am my own mask and you know me just the way I want you to do it.

Tears of death flow over the cheeks..Life ends here.
It's time to say goodbye and let death wrap me in a hug one time more.

I never say people what I want to tell them...I always say them what they want them to be told.
But once I wanted to make a change... And that day I signed a deal with the grim reaper.

But today, it is time to reach an agreement...the only one we can reach...
So I say farewell and let her pass me away.

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Killed by music - Part 1: between spears Valkyries

shines, the moon like the sea, bathed in a light that does not belong.
flew from the top of a hill, gliding down to the green plains, hills and mountains, passing sunrises and sunsets with a thousand heavens ...

Bloody tear, slips off from my eye, scratches on my cheek and falls down to the ground. Suddenly I stop and rush down, even beyond the boundary Usually we never pass.

I come from the lands .. Poggio, as rarely happens, your left foot on the mainland.
hear harp music. I look down from the sky and close my eyes, immersing myself into the abyss of the notes as poetic as sharp.

In Less Than a second I turn weak and human .. Human ...
"Why! I am not human, no more!" Probably this is, what I want to believe, But I know there is a bit of humanity inside of me .. I am the reaper of All Those damned humans who Deserve to Die .. But into the deepness of my heart, I am a little human .. Even if Called "the beast".

Beautiful, the music takes shape, I can even see it. I foolishly approached without caution, I make it my own because it makes me excited for ever .. A step ... A step ... A blade. I smile as he rubbed the wire penetrates my flesh and passes me by separately.

I can see a river behind me, turning back I watch the clouds.
It rains.
The sky is crying for my death. The leaves of the trees die and fall over my head.

Soave, the melody disappears, echoing a cry of pain, I rise dying, in the faint desire to react, but the dark wings are becoming heavier and powerless .. Some last gasp, reeling from the pain and I fall on my knees on the riverbank.
no longer includes the etymology of my words, the sky comes red and I glance at my face for a while Than I remember why I Decided to disown the human race.

Angel of Sorrow
Angel of Death, Fear of suffering
,
Hate for regret.

Launched in flight, angel in pain,
Launched in flight and die just as you were born: free.

flew between spears of the Valkyries, who will accompany me in the empyrean, which I see arising from my last sunrise.

"And I know .. I Have Been Killed by music .."

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Last flame

dancing flame burns between strains.
Rustling of fire evoking ancient memories of battle royale.

Dance for me this last time,
Dance for me this last night.

I remember my birth, I accept my death.
reverently thank the fate that it has given me shiver.

blood Rosa, Rosa
of fire.

Plana delicate petal to the floor.
echoes the thud of a thousand battles.

desperate cries, screams
ever heard.

I enjoy the intense scent one last time.
jet rose into the fire, and welcomes the flame on its final journey.

I grab the ax, and like you, Rosa,
I also savor the last moments before succumbing,
Wrapped in my last flame.

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Killed by music - Part 2: death to us that we

melody mirrors, graceful animal apathy.
ice water in August of the equatorial seas.
And I look, and I admire the life out of my crystal coffin.
Everything seems so twisted, everything is so wrong ..
rains from the ground to the sky, there is no law in nature.
Seeking a pretext to avoid falling into this nightmare but the mind pushes me with violence towards it. I can not fly, I'm dead.
keep falling on deaf ears, with the hope of returning to life. Worse than hell, and I was reserved a place in this strange limbo in which I feel short of breath even without any reason.
I want out, let me out .. I wish it were all a horrible joke, a bad dream from which they wake up, but the more I go along, walking in the hall of columns, the more I realize it is horribly true.

enemies of all kinds, hatred of any kind. No
blade has never scratched this skin, no one has ever shot struck with such force these members to cause you damage.
But a verbal formulation: a few simple words married in any way inhibited accomplished defense and made a sweet melody piercing like an army of warriors of ancient Sparta, the warrior among warriors. No

nemesis for those of us, no trial, no opportunity to respond.

to us that we give death, only death is granted.
the most atrocious forms of: enjoy life, without being able to join.

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Angelo

Note by note, the drops fall into the pool.
Pick the leaves rustling in the branches,
Solfeggio grass caressed by the wind.

I stand here, sitting on the sidewalk, staring at the waves in the gutter. The balconies seem more bleak, given the low mist drilling screws. I feel pain, feel cold .. Cold heart, pain in the wings ..

But I do not have wings, but feel alive behind his back ..
rains, it rains ... When the weather worsens the pain resurfaces .. Tears torn to everlasting torment.
fist on the ground. People feel pain, hear their pain and frustration comes over me. Shout! Insane from what I thought of love, hatred and pain. Oh, poor creatures, my compassion is such as to make real what seemed like a dream full of lies.

DEATH! There is no other remedy for the suffering you and I will save you. I cry while I accept the verdict, I fall on my knees sobbing. Every word seems full of meaning, everything reaches a clarity that impress me.

I count the old clothes that humanity and ignorance. Welcome you with joy and resignation a sad truth that first appeared heresy sung by lips false meaningless. Disrupting

, showing off the feathers dark as night, breaks the silence. Strikes midnight, and the old bell tower marks twelve long strokes, accompanied by a muffled barking of dogs in the distance.

notch in the fog, arpeggio finger between the wings and the rain sounds notes of crystal.

Languidly music of an orchestra which is nature.
There are those who live there and who dies.
and angels, I chose to live in death.

walk among you, in disguise, crossing borders that only few can imagine. Knock on your door to rob you of the one thing that makes you human .. Knock to resume what I have been deprived through you and your horrible attitude to lying. I'll be the wind that blows through the neck when shiver .. I'll be the thrill that runs when frightened .. I will fear you feel when you die .. I'll be the death that comes without notice to claim your soul, now under the thumb.

I. .. The black angel of sadness and death.

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boats including dances honest thoughts. Resurrected, suffering all the pain provocatomi from that old feeling that prompted me to linger over old times, so as to live for years locked up in a tragic indozzo, pearly from prison bars to protect and remove alas, the instinct of which I take back consciousness, without induscio, this instant. Sweets
tears raining through the branches of the lashes whipping now closed, now open. Desperate fists beat the bark, acid saline drops in his mouth. Wondering who have failed to answer or plausible. The only certainty today is the bitterness between the chips now purple cry like a beast without stopping to take breath.
Only through suffering can the suffering silence. And precisely because of my principle, I insist with the knuckles porphyry in a vain attempt to avenge myself.

Ah, those memories! Each of them is for me a blow ever stronger that leaves me without air. Smothered
thoughts now fossil, arpeggio strings in the moonlight. Has made her late, Morpheus is fighting for me, maneuvering in unequal battle with Mars, Hecate and Selene.
Sad melody accompanies me in complaining, fixed the moon while the wind howls.
Anger, rage, revenge, resentment .. Everything stops over time. I take this train of thought alone, and as the only Baggage, the notes of your voice: "Let heaven and men and devils, let Them All, All, all, cry shame Against me, yet I'll speak.".

of dawn and still do not sleep. Singles prosaic and of itself, people repopulate the streets with the harp while sitting on the heart, I surrender quietly to hear the feelings that drag the corpse into the pit of my soul incubators. Relentless your voice I clouds the mind, leading me to enter all darkens odyssey from which I would not get out.

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The sad fate of an angel

What is an angel?

Everyone thinks that an angel is a kind of guy dressed in white who happily goes around fluttering ... But I do not think so.

Since ancient times, in the paintings of the most prestigious artists, we can see an angel is a figure full of pain, fighting to defend something that is not his.

Think of Gabriel, the archangel who is always portrayed as a heroic fighter. The angels are not happy even by children. Have you ever seen a painting of little angels? I will, more than one, and never once have I seen an angel smile. The angels that are characterized by their strange mode of existence: they are hailed as saviors, but they are never rewarded, are loved by everyone, but no one tries to keep them from fighting a war that is not theirs.

Angels are strong. They resist all, and if they die no one cares.
This is love? Certainly not by those who called to the rescue ..

The angels help those in need without wanting anything in return, and when they are in trouble are left to slay.

I saw an angel undressing fight, suffer, weep, get hit again and again, even when tears .. and apparently even the angels may weep .. At the end of this angel was defeated by a faceless enemy, and wounded by a friendly face.

Planai to her rescue, disobeying any rule, I knelt to help him but he felt almost offended by my behavior, I looked at her and said, warning: "The fate of an angel in suffering."

I did not want to believe him, but after I stripped, have fought, suffered and had tears in torrents .. Even today I can say firmly that I would feel offended if an angel came down to help in time of trouble. We are the servants of fate, white or blacks do not care. We pursue different paths with the same ultimate goal. We contend that .... never mind ... just do not understand with the facts in thousands of years, you will not understand for sure now with the words.

The fact remains, now that I have fought and been defeated, now that I have to be on the ground in pain, without a hand to help me ... Now I can also say the pain in my heart, that the fate of an angel is suffering.

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My Sweet Agony

Softly, I blow over your thought and close my eyes once more.
It glides around and slips on the floor like a ghost.
And like a ghost it whispers bewitching words to my soul.
You casted your spell on my astonished freedom, driving me enslaved of your delicate beauty.
I need no rest, I need no food, what I need is your smile, what I need is you.
Forgive my foolish being, forsake your horrifying sorrow.
Get my hand and fly with me beyond the known.
Even now, I cannot understand the way you did it.. But the most amazing thing is that YOU DID IT!!
Killing breeze...You say a word, soft as wind is..But it begins to freeze all of my hopes and I die. Sky is now beneath, ground is now above. I try to look around me, but I am everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
I am a drop of your tears descending on your face. Parturition of your pain. I want to help you enlighting your struggle, but you close me outside like a child with no mother, decreeing my slow, painful death.

When all is getting darker and my voice trembles in pain, you come to me.. Your deep eyes, full of gentle suffering, give me the strength to keep the sword of will and the shield of hope.

Obstinacy of my heart, crying for you a melody of crystal notes.. Warm voice to reassure your choice. Feel free, feel glee..Glee someone has stolen you, glee I want to take back to your eyes.. To let you smile again. Not with your face, but with the whole of your heart.

The thing I gave you is now all in pain,
Emotional drama takes place in the rain.

You make me sadly glad,
You make me gladly sad.

I fought with beasts, I stroke them all.. But..I am really afraid when you glance at me, cause I know that your word can give me the key of heaven, but at the same time it can thrash that thing of me you keep.

I live of sorrow and die of joy, I don't even know what I feel anymore.
Rhapsodic torment of my sleepless night.. Every dream is the same: we lay down togheter on an endless meadow, enclosed in a hug, as we did more than once. But this time we don't go home..We fly far away from all of this..

When I wake up, I realize again that this is just a dream .. I'd like to make it as true, But you are not ready yet .. Too much fear in your heart. So even Hoping to fly with you tomorrow, I lose myself in the sea of \u200b\u200bsorrow and I know I like thinking of you as my sweet agony.

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Air

air because I exist in the eyes of anyone. Air
because I am free and I can give Freedom, Air

why are the theater of every good and evil, all evil But
I lived through all the joy.

Air because they are always present,
But even if I do not see, I am there.

Air because I have neither color nor smell,
But I can make you feel sensations are always different.

Air because I did not form,
But I can wrap everything and nothing at the same time.

Air because they are always delicate,
But in my delicacy, I can wipe out everything you've built.

air because I am living through me,
and when I'm gone, you have no more reason to keep breathing.

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All that remains

rains, the cashier scans chimes Music nostalgic
raining, and the patter of rain on the windows keeps time.

raining, and the last words of the song goes straight down into the heart,
raining, and I realize the paradox of being myself.

The wind blows between the balconies, there is no trace of a star, the wind blows
gl'alberi, there is no music more beautiful.

raining, I would be accompanied by my thoughts applicants where there is no noise,
raining, I will be there waiting for dawn, disputed a look and a caress.

raining, and I re-awakening from a dream now buried.
raining, and all that remains: is silence.

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Echoes of tragedy

Poetry is a day of rain, like tears from heaven,
Poetry is a dawn of March with the sun wakes up in the mountains, pure air
Poetry is nothing hidden in the woods.

Poetry is the move of the leaves blowing in the wind, as seen through the ancient glass from a window last Rombee support gold. A window touched by the rays of the bright star of the day. Flute music in the background, and the exit of the house of wood and stone I can hear the voices confused the market and say goodbye to the old woman who goes to draw water from the well as every morning.

War is raising his eyes to heaven and see it all turn gray,
War is turning a start to the sound of horns tenacious,
War is sigh knowing that they face not one, but two enemies.

War is close your eyes and listen to their children's march to the ford of no return. The ford which leads to the indefinite, which separates the living from the challenge. Challenge for the love of their land and their loved ones against the invading enemy, a challenge for the honor of a fighter who does not withdraw unless the carts mortuary. Swords dance and sing the screams.

Death is the end of the dance, the last note of the existence,
Death is the end of the song, the last line of life, death is
odd times ford the river, between tears and lamentations.

Death is the poetry of war nostalgia. The greatest victory that combines the most bitter of defeats. The end of the last chapter of a book that is life. The road to wilderness, the land of those who did burn the icy fire of battle through his own blood.

Poetry is an echo of the tragedy that glorifies war,
War, is an echo of the tragedy that glorifies death,
Death, is an echo of tragedy praising the eternal silence.

And the wagons arrived, led by driver ..

Dragged into the pit, the last memory remains imprinted,
From the one who is never dead, but then was revived twice,
Earth in the face, the shade of a cypress
and closed the hole, finally all was silent.

Ceo Takeover Speech Sample

Pikes

It rains, I feel unhappy
It rains, I feel alone
In pain, I take my pencil
In pain, I draw my world

I just ask me a question
And I look for the answer
There is a need of possession
And a tear like a dancer...

The tear is like a ghost
Like me through this people
Between drops she is lost
As a third in a loving couple

In this rain I have a hike
walking slowly on a crushing dike

It doesn't really matter the way I act like
'Cause the end's always the same: there, just another pike.

Difference Between Dmo And Ppo With Aetna

What's left of you: Part 1

Choleric, I came up from the dock spitting the venom that the jury had held the body for days: "How dare you, you compare me to be this low." I noticed a guard to lay before his left foot and grab the narrow sword, wrapped in the sheath. I banged my fists on the counter several times, cursing the people of my rank not kept such account now. I was struck in the head, I remember nothing else .. As a name, a face it .. I just remember that everything went dark and the voices are drowned. If I think I still feel the pain resurface.
And this is my story. Now here, the sinking of a vessel without captain, pirate of the sea which is not mine, I wander the streets of a city that not even I know, I listen to conversations in a language never heard ..

Never heard?
Val for me, since for them ..
worries me doubting the genuineness of my memories.
Reflecting with patience, I come to the hypothesis to be me, the unknown.
abominations. With the reputation it enjoyed popular and the chatter on the last day of the trial, I can not go unnoticed, even hidden under a doublet as a monk. But the discomfort I
father, in this moment of thought ..

Puffing crudely, am departing from the main road and I to enter into an alley, dragging my aching limbs. I sit at a step and fall, I saw a photo of my pocket. Reach out my hands dirty, and awkwardly between your fingers grab the image of Lei Oh you, those memories, the pain .. She gave me hope, you gave me confidence that even a man of the world as they are, can hope to have .. Seeking solace in its free expression and both serious and composed, I have sought for so long .. So long that too much beauty for a few days spent together, we laid on the Mean Look to whole Europe.

What remains of you, if not the melody that reminds you of the window with a flower in May, and the thought of one of your white smile ...

Why Does My Toddler Belly Get Swollen?

It smelt like freedom

Have you ever thought of a rainy day? When all is surrounded by that driving sound?

I lay down under a tree,
I keep myself comfrotable between the roots, watching carefully up to the sky.
I can see the water flowing among the veins of the leaves like rivers in flood, the raindrops fall up on my face and wash me from all the thoughts of my life.

Now I lay alone in my world of water and sound, of music and nature. It's wonderful. There are people who waste this moment, but I don't. Not now. I can hear it: the sound of rain grows more and more. It's like a train on a railway.
Full of that foolish flood, my mind flows to those flowers. How interesting is understanding that they can always feel like I do now. Totally hurled to the world of their own wild feelings.

Loneliness, I can feel it.
It's just a moment but I felt it with the whole of my heart. Rain leaves me and I am alone again, on the top of the highest hill, where there is nothing but trees, grass and fog.

Noises in my head, now i know my life is a stack of waste, rubbish, as compared with this. My old life, with all it's thoughts and feelings comes back again like a body-seeking soul.

I start my ride and begin a slow comeback to the city.
Well, being there has just been a dream but..
Yeah, it smelt like freedom.

Funny Saying For Biology

reverb However

close my eyes and my hair now dark slide brightly on the face, I look down on the keys of my blackened angel of strings. Thunders the sky, tearing the hiss of an evening without feeling faint, hidden now by thoughts and questions. Do not fly the imagination, chained to something that has more fictitious force of a thousand realities. And all is silent. Sibila
the guitar at the touch of your fingers .. The only pleasure I can enjoy these moments is an arpeggio melody that warms the heart and gives wings even where it seems impossible.
A closer look, love, takes possession of me. Note after note every thought is transmitted to the surrounding world, almost like an epidemic of bitter sadness. I love anything that inspires poetry, and thanks to escort hand of fate, I make my own music that makes the world a slave to the thought and feeling. Sandwiched between an agreement and a shake, the whistle of the fingers sliding on the strings makes me share a tribal dance of magic art, which is what so many live and some die.
I like to give a name to certain feelings, but there is no remedy for the trance that takes hold of my muscles and my memories, make you slaves of my own eyes in a glare of pain.

Monster Allergy English

What's left of you: Part 2

Stuprato l'orgoglio, dagli insulti per nulla compresi di una vecchia unfriendly, I get up and walk along the path, without a goal.

What is around the corner?
Confused, thoughts enter my mind, and outlines the possible realities that may presentarmisi few steps.

Vile, lagnante, a husky male voice thunders in the distance! The few people who were walking
hurry up and fade away, I feel that I can understand the words, I hasten I, too, but in the opposite direction. Finally someone can help me ..

Three black figures are close to the center of the street walking at a brisk pace. Spaniards seem, judging from their clothing, even though it was completely black.

"You!" Exclaims the highest while I close the circle.
I look around me more confused than before, I have no way out, and to draw his sword, my only thought is to see her one last time, that last moment.

Alterno a look at a thought, I pray and study at the same time, but I know the truth but refuse to wanting an almost masochistic instinct for survival: I'm already dead.

takes a step backwards, and no ability to defend me, raises the sword and the swordsman on the attack. I see the atrocities of his hatred in his eyes red with anger.

After the coup: the fall, which seems to never end.
not feel pain, but peace.
not feel afraid, but calm.
not feel hatred, but empty.

It 's a huge feeling of emptiness, do not feel anything and I continue to fall .. few inches from the ground infinite ..

I fall to the ground dying. I hear footsteps approaching, there is a scent that would recognize among a thousand, Lei is her? But why?
Incredulous I make an effort to lift his head, and I see ... Cry me a heart to see it changed, his eyes now warners link me with the contempt of a common court lady. The pain is too strong to be able to speak, I'm pleased to remain motionless and stare them in the long term nature of an instant that will probably be the last of my painful existence.
I would ask why, I would pull them hand, I would cling to me that last time .. But another arm rests on her hip.

Just who I was imprisoned hours cuddling my greatest desire, I feel like dying more than before, and I want to surrender to fate without moving defense, although inept.

I look over my thoughts at the time when the sound of the clarinet, we warmed the hearts, the moment you looked into my eyes and I was dying with joy, at the time of touching your face with the back of his fingers felt a shiver pecorrermi along the back and closed my eyes to enjoy the pleasure that I had never tried before. Only once I had the opportunity to touch your lips with mine, and now that I'm here at the brink of death, is suspended for the duration of a tear ..

What remains of you, if not the sight of your love, given to those who only knew how to cover yourself with words ...

Can All Liquids Become Gas Chocolate

pain slave .. but still free.

I looked up to heaven, it was a wonderful afternoon of May.
walk with my friends for a street of the historic center of my city, every step was a childhood memory that surfaced with sweet arrogance, blew a warm breeze, a gentle touch like a caress, and the scent of grass did not want me truce, as if to take in a state of profound thought. And he succeeded.
The conversation was pleasant and alternating with a few laughs, but the beauty of that moment led me to look up to heaven, that moment is etched for ever, feeling after feeling, in my mind. Smiling as often happens to me, I look toward the infinite blue light-hearted of the sky that stretches above us unlimited and see about us, from the bottom of the old buildings, a flock of birds flying in formation Drawing fantastic shapes, sometimes precise sometimes confused.
The minute, one thrill me along the back, while a thought asking a question on which I decide to think about: We are born with the purpose of suffering in nature?
may seem like silly questions if you do not see the birds glide in the endless sky, they can do what we can do: to be always and unconditionally free, fly, eat, sleep and fly again. Free to nature. And instead of us? We touch a lot more very sad beings we are "superior", we have an intelligence far more advanced than theirs, yet it is precisely because of this intelligence that we know we force every day. With the knowledge we have defeated the disease, built houses that disappear into the clouds, developed techniques for anything better and better ... But at what price? After all, they are truly free, we do not. Intelligence has cost us the most precious thing of all: freedom. I conclude that the only free men that I have heard about the prehistoric people of the stone when the human race had not yet reached the level of "sapiens sapiens, was still" herectus ", is based standing, walking, but they had no knowledge. Without that knowledge had a very short life, like that of birds, however, that brief period of history that had the experience of primitive man, is not even remotely comparable to the long life that we spend hours frantically. To be truly happy as I do? be ignorant and live away from "civilized" world? It could be a road, but I know for a fact that never let you know, I know that the thirst for knowledge that I feel is an integral part of human nature, and so we humans are born with the need not to be free, is written in our DNA .. I would not be human, to live the life of a bird soar savoring what it means to truly be "free."

I looked up to heaven, it was a beautiful evening in May.
walk with my friends for a street of the historic center of my city, spoke to each other again when I pointed the nose up for wholesale, get lost in a moment of meditation. I saw a cloud hovering over us and be moved by the wind, as happens to a piece of paper floating in the waves. I felt empty, I realized I need something, to be incomplete. I looked beyond the formless cloud, seeing what there is ever before, but never notice: the sky. The sky is nothing but an optical effect caused by the refraction of sunlight on the atmosphere that surrounds and envelops the earth. This explains why we see the stars at night and by day no. And seeing the harmonious colors range from blue and purple, migrating to a dark fantasy, I doubt arose from the philosophical significance: It can be truly free?
My answer to this question is almost dry and even contradictory: no. The sky itself is the proof. We are prisoners of our planet, but at night the doors to the universe, and be able to live outside of the Earth, we always imprisoned within the universe, as we assume that it is infinite. How can you get away from something that has neither a beginning nor an end? And in my cogitare apply this reasoning macrocosm to microcosm: the living being. Even the most free-living being, even the bird, is subject to the laws that restrict and prevent the complete freedom. The "nature" itself presents us with the laws, but even if they did not exist, it would still be slaves to our choices, as time goes by and there is no going back.
In conclusion, it appears that we live in search of a freedom that we can not find, ever find it .. Why does not exist and can not exist. We can only hope to limit ourselves to the impossible and keep looking.
What is the point in living in a quest that can not be accomplished in this world? I only have two options to find what I'm looking for:

Dreaming, Dying
.

Dreams can make me enjoy the true freedom and help to die. Death can give me that freedom making me an exile from my body shape. However I have decided not to die willingly, because I'm not sure that in death find what you want, and so I prefer to enjoy the pleasure of a fictitious search results will never, until the laws of nature that I deem it fit to pass, as it is customary to say, to "better" life.

This is the truth, they are "free" and therefore relatively free. Free, but not quite, then, paradoxically, free and held at the same time.

I am the slave of my freedom .. However, slave .. But still free.