Are your ashes in the sky?
Or did you dissolve in the ground?
Are your molecules in the clouds?
Am I being too loud
When I talk about the existence of our disappearance?
Are you in the whites of my eyes
Or the rights of my lies
When I try to please you
When these talks make you mad?
Where psychiatrics and materials
Are two things I can’t compromise.
I’m getting old,
Life stays the same.
It’s quite more serious
Than when you think it’s a game:
The disappearance of our existence.