You will always be a hyena.
A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.
I wrote silences; nights; I recorded the unnameable.
Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.
I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.
Now I am an outcast. I loathe my country. The best thing for me is a drunken sleep on the beach.