The outsider stood on the edge, Surrounded by fools following too many rules. Common tastes and hobbies remained hidden Beneath the noise of bludgeoning drones. Personal problems piled up, An unprecedented amount of worries. Tears in a loop, an endless cycle of escape, fate and bitter fruits, A land of which to dream was the joy of all joys Echoed from afar, While the dead found no rest. Money had become flesh, transient and perishable, Water damage gnawed at the foundations, Blood incantations summoned interdimensional death, Glazing of the soul, patasonic amulets as last protection. Original compassion faded in the face of Creaking doors and rumbling stomachs. Crossing turbulent rivers, absolution was sought, While sleeplessness, caused by job loss, Cried out for a remedy against alienation. The creaking oak stood as a silent witness. Pitch-black and trembling, A gutted loudspeaker traced The trajectory of a late-night earthquake. Melodic sweetness gave way to the incomprehensible. Above unfolded a nihilistic tragedy, Subconscious elements of humanity emerged. Physical numbness overcame the observer, As masses of maggots accelerated the natural process of decay. Yet in plasticized immortality The outsider found unexpected, joyful mood. He danced through the night, freed from the chains of convention. This side of Taksim and Tarab, Beyond blood incantation and glazing, Lay a world full of possibilities - A patasonic amulet against the void.
