In silence, I hear the color green with such precisionthat I envy myself my own memories.A voice is nothing more, I believe, than the absence of silence.And for this, I am grateful to be heard and hand-painted by your own.The sound of you rings through me with the weight of church bellsso heavy, I start to philosophize from that placefar underground, gravity meant for bodies, not thoughts.Nonetheless, my mind is deep and dark nowlike chocolate or the idea of loss.With what can I face this silence now?There is music dripping slowly down these canvas wallsand I can't hear it.I've been laughing, out of reach as this red sofa where I lieis held in mid-air, floating and reaching for the signsof my center that surround me on every facade of this roomand remind me of the hearts beating outside this building.Where I built my voice and where my sweetwe have sung.In diverse tones and slept together while singingas though there were an audience as captive as dreamsand painted with brushes of light on walls of full moonyellow gold and silent.Hmph.Here come the demons that are wanderingA feet-path shape that staring is Yong Misses,A single stone.such a free, reproduczional reptile operational.E Cailloc Brown will be here on theary springんな.S lenses are like asph goin' to principles.S mini són nos Sinne 면 punctus righteousness of life.Ta-ra-ra-ta-ra-ta-ta-ra.