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Tío Mario

de Susana Bosch

Dusty miles of the fatal thread
Curlina path in a tangle
Visions red, painted sad
The scope of solidowale

Supersensual slaughter
The doctrinal Abyss,
The archetype sorter
Makes some events freeze
The boiling holy water
Instead of air we breathe

Why keep running deep
As we sleep in silence?...
Midnight thieves, fugitives,
Slaves of mental science...

The monad hetacomb - the droop is in bloom
Now we're on the way to fall into decay

Before we strive a light
We swear black is white
We trying to find a source
Of repulsive force

Surrounded by the dogmas
We've drained this knowledge dry
Whispering in chorus
We sing between the lines

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