A few translucent blocks
The trapped bodies and their mighty souls
People move in blocks
And a glass separates lovers
That is me in that cabin
And I listen to music
The background score of my life
Baked clay
Its smell and harsh texture
Is all over my body
Cold heat sweat
And junctions of passion
Divisions on morals
And critics fucking the stories
I sit on all these
Or may be somewhere in between them
And emit that thing called vigor
