The Road, like a snake, crawls in the valley covered up by the thick morning sun.
The Sun, like a gentle eye in the sky, hides himself in the tricky grey stripes.
People, cars, lives, the fog on sewed fields, the days are growing warmer.
A room, where to hide. A trick to let the feelings stand off.
The monster. The knife I used to hurt you, your hopes bleeding on my indifference.
Dawn, sunsets, faces, the music.