Where do we go from here Maki?
The souls have been swallowed by dragons made from cast iron.
The butterflies have sworn not to expand their wings again, they have abandoned the lights and all the colors.
Many men attend the cemetery to call up upon love from his coffin, his sleeping place.
They have been answered by a splash of dust on their hungry faces.
Maki, why do Gods forget their magic, why?
Why is love gone, Maki?
Stop calling me Maki, and embrace my wet skin, captivate my soul, let me be yours again.
We can create love.
Like a poem, like a melody.