To break the silence, I tell everything to you.
You subconsciously realise you know everything, all the gesture and your oracle instinct.
You subconsciously realise you have nothing more to say.
All you have to do: wrap your lips in silence, let me babbling right away, fussing the whole thing, the whole world, let myself on my own world.
Fully immersed by my own world.
But you find out myself fully immersed with your own, your whole world.
The whole silence in your tiny world. Silence is everything.
Every millisecond is worth a pleasure.
I enjoy you in silence.
You can hear me bumbling.
And here I am deafening with your silence.
We are subconsciously trapped, letting ourselves incorrigible.
We both are trapped in our incarceration.
Nearly zero, almost nothing.
I probably don’t exist.
Don’t you ever dare to ask me!
A qui la faute—who’s to blame?
My existence probably nothing in your eyes,
The dust among those autumn leaves,
At the end of the day Calling out every single elephant who can remember At the top of melancholy hill The big pile of memories We put an elephant on a top of it So it can be the storyteller to the old days Years already passed when you’re trying to look into another glass and digging Going deeper and deeper Through the big pile of memories Until we find ourselves as memento for our children At the end of the day