Lunar

Phaseless and shiftfull, fantasy calls for shallows... Blamed on the sky and its uncounteable scars, the echoes of the hours... L'arte della fuga è la fuga della arte; who would've known the fourth face of Hecate? Ashamed of the bright that others impose to us, sands' glass... Faith's childhood for childs like end... It is not innocence that calls the sbarks, but the greedy wish to make gold from blue moods... Feels not loneliness, sealed by the vacuum that only silence may sound... What shook the sea of memories?It was not the light, it was not the stars, it was not that far, it was only the night...