Sometimes snow but only ashes and we run out and take pleasure in a born-again winter and laugh and tear on their mouths and stick out their tongues and show its teeth and eat nothing but ash and choke you. Gone with ashes no longer, when inserted in a groove and it satisfies hunger or thirst.
In a world of ash and danger lurks around every corner in every corner of the fear. Dark gray and we see nothing more, and feel our way on walls and bushes along and hear anything, just breathing and perhaps only his own. Fear of raids and monsters and disappointment and fear of embarrassment and, a stumbling block and a barrier and fear of the silence and the heartbeat that is too loud in their ears. But what is going to happen one of a world where everything is dissected, which is strange. With a little courage the hunted becomes the hunter. Breathe quietly and hold his hand to protect and on the other hand hold when entering the number combination on the ATMs and provide no insight into the liquidity and in the soul and the fears and weaknesses. But: Fear Eats the Soul and fear paralyze limbs and lips and the face and we stop and seize anything more, and still and maybe a little too late. The ash eats by himself because we once laughed too much and shouted and danced in the supposed snow.
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