Luyện nghe bài hát Terminus - Xtul

Quiet and hooded, his eyes out, small hands
make patterns on the window. Body on wood,
dog outside the door, memories as trains
maneuver in the old men's eyes. Forever of a sleep-
ing world, for him to come. Lost dreams of
forgotten like hope. These lives are grey
stones made for cemeteries, this time the is
desired, like misery. He stepped down the train,
dust on and clothes, across the way a boy was
grinning, hard-on obvious in grey trousers
from an earlier victim of the white horse.
Filing past the flowers and full of dreams,
light of filtering where woof tiles slipped,
into that darkness. ritual makes demand, a hope-
coil of expensive death affirming our exeistence.
The direction never changes, never falters.
derelict lines lines to journey's end. Small hands
smear juice on squeezing tight crinkling of
skin against worn eyes. There is no of light.
Somewhere, in the secret cathedral, movements,
the whole area covered in sheets of snow, by
huts. He had no expectations, was no reason,
breathing short as the on the wall. Whenever the
dog moved, the trembled, shimmering like water
moved by leaves in a forest. of cold spray in
the dust, as in the future by choice. Our appetite
for miracles is not enough. Here, animals
remain, immaculate, seduced by pain. fear into
specters of welcome. Floor stained patients. The
of least action. He moved like a rat in rubble
toward the sheets of snow, and empty, like an
old house, the where all dreams meet. "He was
before he jumped".

Las night the boy came. arms. Black hair.
Strong. Empty pale face. A volunteer. of why
he came. by pain. A faded painting. Waiting
for release, he blinked, up at the ceiling,
let out a gasp praying for oblivion.

No engines anymoore. The machine stopped. No
ghosts of playing in the grass. Just simple, as
you would expect. No physical core. No of love
from pitted carriages. an empty town. Derelict.
No way to identify. Sound playing across skin
fingers. Just as ampty as flesh. What do you
Nothing in particular. No reason at all. a noise
of dreams at the door. as before. Did you see

This is the where all roads meet, the place
where all is the secret. The Place time stands
still in the of night and love becomes will
in the presence of light. I never to leave. I
never want to leave. I want to leave.