Dream, a night mole, living outside the body, Prophetic signs of rushing
weekdays, the punitive expedition of the charmed characters 
and fears, a spider, spinning a cobweb of already accomplished deals. Soul 
also needs a rest and an ascension to Him, – night finds a mystery in such a way,
and the dream wanders at the mausoleum of body like the embalmed past, 
like yesterday, like an obedient pause, like a submissive ghost at the service 
of devil’s beginning. Disbelief harasses the sun, the moon is only a shadow, 
its similarity, white snowy sadness, and the tunnel of time leads to the dawn 
along the hard road of memory, longing and dreams. Wake up, stop 
the nonexistent reality of the Express, dawn has already called itself 
the final stop, the era of the return to destiny, and this equinox 
on the horizon of day and night meets, speaks about something with good and evil, 
and, as if the referee, throws into the corners, and they rush and ask for the meeting, 
but the fight is ahead, the soul came back, it’s time for us to get down to business,  
earthly, but so sublime and strange at this borderland.