A countdown announces the beginning
Torn pages of a calendar thrown on the floor
Ignored traces
The sound of the radio leads us between melodies and news towards life.

Empty glasses in hands that don’t know what they’re looking for
In hands that offer what they don’t have.

Living almost always makes noise
And dying looks like the emptiness which is inside of us
That’s why it scares us and we run away towards the word.

We think with mute phrases
And we speak to be heard
Or not to hear our deafening silence