The subjects of sleep
Their faces once awake
on sodomy and death
and smoke and laughter.

Their feet no longer,
underground.

The snow hides the traces,
never set in a first place.

This negative kingdom,
lay horrible and white.

The angels all stone,
passing their years.

Hoping to be saved,
from oblivion not by oblivion.

And the miracle is that
nothing has happened
nothing has a history
or a name!

Only the voice of falling snow!

Only the voice of falling snow!

Only the voice of falling snow!

Only the voice of falling snow!

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