Dead of silence. In the sense of lost absence. In Swedish. Echo of time passing under the branches. Multiple time, with its threads leads. As long as he doesn't move in his immobility. Not even from the mouth of time comes light. The eyes smell like clothes. From maybe I take it off. I put it on. It is spent. Tear. Without you. Without smell. Our bodies, their sweat games. His desire for your essence. Fight against getting lost. It is known to cry. In the dawn. He pauses. Distinguishes the space between words. "Siliban" the syllables. They creep as notice. Using the strange arms of the air.