The Profit of Time

Time is a rain that falls on our feverish plain. For centuries one after another we stared at a tale within ourselves that had no truth. We stared at stillness at darkness at the separation between our lonely hands; we stared at the delusions of hellfire. And time for centuries one after another was a rain that slowly, slowly fell on hell. Come with me let us run naked in the street; clear drops the clear drops of centuries rain rain falls on us. Your blistered lips have opened in a smile to the paradise of truth in your face, under the rain and the beats of this whole heart in our breast...