Do you hate how the moon calls your devotion?
We are hammered hearts that scream and sigh at night.
There is that wind that knocks, it wants to scratch your cheek
He wants to reclaim the soul of those who deny Orpheus at night.
There is no Tramontana that holds war,
The reminder is for those in silence
They hear their limbs scream,
A cry of surrender that asks for mercy.
The sarcophagus of the night is a fear,
We feel the fear,
But we claim it as the only companion.
Is it pleasure to go to meet suffering?
We lay our minds in the one night,
Night of drums, and fire.
We burn while the night repairs a silence
Uncontainable, frustrating, painful.
We walk, sleepwalkers
Daydreamers,
We swipe our fingers on the walls of life,
The poet's flower has a price.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 