AC\ID, it's me!

Poetry my luggage, I'm heading to burning churches in the northern sky, the worlds flow, with thoughts as wings and feathers with paint that draw the clouds in the night sky.
Experiences with light as me and my friends ride bicycles on the moon, looking for a permanent sunset, the journey of life always ends too soon.

Dust the dirt below the horizon, swallow the nose near galaxies too far, see the alignment of the stars testify the dead of night, the birth of wilderness of life, where the eyes hide from the sun, behind the invisible shield of plastic faith in things that now are known to exist.

Illusion broken as it cuts deep, feel the humming of pain grinding my teeth, evil birth at the word of mouth. I'm the element carved from water and under stress collapse into steam, the exclamation pointing out to the meaning, What a dream!

Timeless speed in polaroid themes, ancient default prodigal fiends, details neglected from within.
But at least i learn it here, where the chord lies the beat, to swallow frogs alive, running the power lights that chases us through the dark we sweat.

It's not a dream, but the perfect translation of all you don't understand within yourself.

It's ending as it begun, only the sound of silk that bruises flesh, and words grind against paper blank, always more of the same, forever dream.

No translation avaiable.