Luyện nghe bài hát Terminus - Xtul

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

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

No engines anymoore. The engine's stopped. No
ghosts of death in the grass. Just simple, as
you would expect. No physical core. No of love
pitted carriages. Just an empty town. Derelict.
No way to identify. playing across skin like
fingers. Just as ampty as flesh. What do you
Nothing in particular. No reason at all. Just a
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 where time stands
still in the comfort of and love becomes will
in the presence of light. I want to leave. I
want to leave. I never want to leave.