Inside the look. Those sad eyes of doubt, while doubt is extinguished at the time of the return of the flame of hope. Divine love of the hours. Of our daily eclipses. Where the flickering of the skin dazzles us. "A us" blind from the hands. No quick harvest announced in the never-changing seasons. The lyrics heat up like a mouth that gets angry. And now speaking only to the closed windows that shuttered, shuttered.
Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.