We exhume the time,
To look for rotten forgotten treasures,
Cries the time: “Don’t!”
We go ahead.
We pull out with all our power,
Blood,
Pus,
And agony.
We regret,
Throw away the shovel,
And sit in full exhaustion and despair.
The time looks like a left naked prostitute,
Moaning.
And the sky cries instead of time’s eyes.
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