Even If A Poet Writes

And As We Stray Further From Love, We Multiply The Words. Had We Remained Together We Could Have Become A Silence.

I Try To Stay A Civilian, To Live As A Human, Not As A Poet.

Tonight I Think Again Of Many Days That Are Sacrificed For One Night Of Love. Of The Waste And The Fruit Of The Waste, Of Plenty And Of Fire. And How Painlessly-time.

Here (jerusalem), Tears Do Not Weaken The Eyes, They Only Polish And Shine The Hardness Of Faces Like Stone.

What Are You Going To Do Now? You'll Collect Loves Like Stamps. You've Got Doubles And No One Will Trade With You. And You've Got Damaged Ones.