“Soul - a dead bird, don't cease to fly”

"After death, my soul, a dead bird, don't cease to fly" All beautiful things drop the body from space to earth. I, on the other hand, am in love with
eternity. Some creators do not die - they live in their creations. I met a dead and decayed bird. I
met bones and wings without flesh. In that void I saw a small, tiny heart beating. It was like
mine. I took it away, with me it will fly forever.

Above my head the mechanism of the clock - time is merciless. Remember. The wings are entangled in the hair of death. Hair is a prison for physical bodies. Hands in blood are a struggle. The big bear in the sky is the imprint of moles on my face. Will you walk with me to the eternal stars?