Our senses, pursued by the sales of the unconscious system, they accomplish; they buy in agreement with the programmed instructions. There is a lot that we stopped being who are, proceeded in a highway to the rhythm of the consumption of the imposition that our senses only distinguish, a direction: the acquaintance's direction, because of the stranger nothing knows, because they don't leave us. They fear that the mysterious side of the life appears and reveal us the truth.
Those on whom we voted for drive our destiny for the grandiose is worth of the poverty. It is think still they are illuminated, you guarantee of our everyday one and of our future.
And we continued in this stagnation because they reduced us the secrets of the pyramids. And no longer have we known how to build them.
More and more they limit us, they steal us the time, until that we are hopelessly without him. Is it later, what will make? Is it possible to live without time?
The mother caressed her tender little daughter's head, but she didn't get that she stopped with the cry. No, she was not hungry, it was not also sick, it was healthy, beautiful as her progenitor. But, because it didn't stop her then of crying? Already one had searched and leaned over many doctors with their medicines, but anything. Until that they disenchanted a mystic doctor, of those that nickname of nuts, but crazy nowadays it is who knows of the things, and him, in an apex it cured her. The disease? It was one more victim of the epidemic of the civilization.
To rest, to navigate, to walk, and to dream the love, as in a feminine face of damsel to garden in the perfume jasmine. With love he is born a woman and a jasmine. And their perfumes exalt us, because with love our mother generated us. And with love you will always be mother, and you will never complain. With love you will be universalized, immortalized.
Hercules is the force; the political parties are the farce, our fork. Our weakness lives in the actual political class of the bank democracy and oil.
House salts, you enter in the street and in her you get lost. And however you walk for instinct, as all do automatically. And in that noisy agitation you don't get to think. That primordial function, merge of our outraged aspirations. We always moved in the turbulent waves of the sea multitudinous, without time to love, without time to dream. Just to lament the past, in the hope that finally they invent the machine of the time, and in her we travel in the infinite of the love and of the dream. He is very difficult to meet again the love, because the diabolism peeps us, he waits for us in the cliffs of the palaces. And you predict: without love you will never be mine, nor of anybody, nor of you.
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