I wait for you in the underground surveillance where we met already with death finished. You tell me. I say to you. I "grieve". You "hurt". Does not drag. He adores us. in gold In his delusional greed. It "exports" us. To his traffic of bodies. Over the 100,000 freighters that sail through the uninhabited seas in silence of water. Without aromas of trees on the surface they "fly" like giant metal looking for the black holes of the seas.