We brake, always,
The rules of our ego,
Of the esteem for ourselves.

We leave the room,
to any kind of influence,
that pull us into eddies without exit.

We allow our minds,
Not to believe anymore who we are,
Not to recognise anymore themselves,
Until the point to not distinguish,
The live, from the die.

We are conscious of what we see,
What we listen, continuously;
Undaunted, we proceed,
In a promised decline.

In the outline of a dry future,
We recognise ourselves, enthused;
In a dark path,
We leave our existences end,
Sure, of tomorrow's absence.


- Utopian