Nothing is alive here,
in this box named reality,
the stars were become pins
penetrating the sky's eyes,
who save them?

The hours are ill,
they took on sheets gray minutes,
don't want to born humans,
or other normal destinies,
which cure them?

The words stops here,
there are no move in the universe,
the lights are dead,
the angels are just points,
who build new icons?