In music we die. 

Exploring the epiphany

The more I go, the more I curse eternity.

The more I go,the more music I breathe and eat,

Less I speak, more music…just jump and swing in music,

no words…no words…enough has been spoken…no words.

No more words from false, premature imaginations,

A doped mandolin for every cannibalised borders…

A hippy harmonica for every caged bullets…

A piano and a sound of wild rain for every Love’s last kiss in front of an atomic supernova.

The music all the way…the music all the way.

You will be alone with the speck of revolution…world will be in a conference of conscience and rainbow insanity.

Only then bring back the words, it will flourish and will not be caged.

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