The wild bread in the fire,
water turned into wine.
The blind still running around,
twisted tongues
in dualistic measures,
the cold flame
is creating a weapon
to let us get lost in a black hole.
The Angels whisper in an open heart,
and the howling Gods
are turning illuminated elements
into solid Gold.
The waves are calling,
it's time to come home
to the forest, our blue paradise.
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