To write something free of any religion and language.
Something pure of all accumelated knowladge
something holly.
That will be the right song ever.

I cannot do it.

All the languages are piled knowlage, wisdom and lies over lies
All dialects smeared with blood.

My thoughts as well are filled with fury rage and anger.

I cannot
cannot do.

I want !
I desire !
I can !

Only that knowing
that I have written the pure holly song,
Will be to me endless energy for good.

In nightmared reality
in which a gun and frozen eyes shooting dead a prime minister
or ripping a face of an inocent sister,
or a child who just wanted a candy that never ends
(that puts an end).
only that he did not know.

But what is it that wisperes again:
In this kind of reality nobody has no interest
reading that pure holly white over white.

Right, I wisper myself back and wry with dispare.

If only I could
were I not.


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