I'm painting another illusion, because I know there is somewhere. Smiles are the shadows of the muses in the palette of Alpha and Proxima . I have not found Orpheus among the reborn, but I want to die with Eurydice. The most gentle is the siren refrain, when they're calling me to a sudden reef. The tears are ugly in the chink. They fill all the deficiencies of salty. But dark is in my soul waiting near the corner of the round universe. In the stiff cloister of the skeptics I repeat long I found you. but it is known - the birds often die, on a flight between Newcastle and Hemera . Beautiful is another illusion. Sometimes even the sadness subsides. When the muses left me, she quietly smiles in my sleep.