Time goes by.

Dreams aren't bad, I had turned back. I love the gun. But God only knows. It's getting hard to see the sun coming through. I love you... But what are we going to do? Picture I'm a dreamer, I'll take you deeper down to the sleepy glow. Time is a low. Don't you know? What are we going to do? When you go back all the second selfless days. You're in love with him. I want to see you again. But what are we going to do? Now everybody's dancing the dance of the dead, the dance of the dead, the dance of the dead. And then came a sound. Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space. There were no screams. There was no time. The mountain called Monkey had spoken. There was only fire. And then, nothing.

Encoutners inteligence has been workin by that time. Whole time. Willing to see my reactions through the chain reaction of yours. Willing to watch some responses, reluctantly briefing you about anything what has happened since. How was it? How was that? N, of course, that creature has had to burrow the net in order to own the most unavailable track in the wide web. I just don't want to write literally to the recipient in order to not make more shambles than already has been created [by us ]. Still, havin this grey, shadowy remains of mine, although some were given back n burried as relicts. Time is a healer, as some predictory serwers prophet. I would gladily join you, nevertheless, particular molecules inside your inner mind are against my intentions. I wish it all went in a n other way . MAybe I will even regret my deeds. Will we ever be the same [?] Never tell secrets. Never tell lies. Never cry wolf. N you think you know me? I didn't have intentions, you to suffer from my case... I feel terrible, maybe like you, although you can doubt... Did you call me now?