Shouting in silence, and silence takes me to the glory, I discovered the
infinity of my mind in solitude, insatiable anxiety of understanding between
the real thing and the abstract thing my world is the imagination and the
true thing. Misantrhopia, it does not look for the pleasure but mental purity
Misantrhopia. The emptiness fills up my core. Outer search of the spiritual caresses,
Deficiencies, wealth in my interior, rebel subtle of the established
Abandonment of the collective stupidity
Misantrhopia, the abyss it's dwelling, misantrhopia, I complete link of
the reason. To live in if same, far from everything, headdresses my hands,
But never my world, I have a sea of ideas in my mind and you cannot imagine
the weaves at least. Happy melancholy, the suffering comes from outer
nostalgia, the art distracts the time and of the time it waits for the renaissance
In the death
