Somewhere in space in a large
crystal skull at the base of floats
it is a microcosm of what, if
macrocosm of the swallows
all sense of humanity?
Ahmin information, and it pours
through my head, whether it's in vain.
My dreams are like the sand grains
the arms of sinful man.
The reality and the lies weave
network micro cosmos like.
At last frost arrived
Joensuu on the street, is not it yet
here to live for a long time left.
So fickle is the year
rotation, languid is the Earth
Rebellious weather. romanticism
sleeps in one of the Journal of the bunch
Below, I will not at this time
enjoy for a long time under the open sky.
I dream of dancing northern lights
Seita drum rhythm
when the receiver macrocosm,
it is my every cell feet.