(Rings a song out loud)
A man, lonely, waiting for his bus
waits for the untouchable sound
along with his unimaginalbe feelings
of rapt.
And uncontinuously smiles
to the other ones passing by.
Smiling and enjoying conversations
lacking the real meaning of their real lives.
The rapt of not living the lives they thought.
The rapt of falling in love with someone they could never kiss.
The rapture...
the rapt of waking up with sounds,
heavy sounds of human asfixiation,
bodies being hidden in fields of imagination.
Green fields, dark fields.
Fields of human shields
(that we didn't notice before).
Before the moon rose up into the sky
and released it's howl.
She and he and we howled to the uncertain future.
A future we live, we die
and we are reborn again.
Living the future we want to live,
evolving from the past we feared to observe.
While we're chatting under the dark lighs of humanity,
lightning the skies with words and verbs of freedom.
Freedom above us in the skies,
freedom before us in the ground we use to step
with feelings of slavery and no exchange in the future.
The rapt,
the rapt of light,
the rapt of darkness,
the rapt of what we are,
the rapt of what we want to be.
With no exchange, once again,
for the human beings living under
the heaviness of our existance.
With the lightness of the rapt we owe,
and want to live for...