My brain works very well
Free from veils that could break it
I'm free to do what I want
To hate who I want
Not to share opinions, but respect who doesn' t see with my eyes

Green eyes, unsure
I envy who doesn' t see as I see, like animals
But who's right?
Are the colours of the world really these, or what I see is not real?

But what does "real" mean?
Perhaps reality is only the function of death
Maybe I'm dead and I'm waiting for a life that finally will arrive
When somebody' ll steal my heartbeats

Heart, this strange beating organ
That pumps blood in our veins
And purifies it from trash

[Solo: Mario]

Or maybe is really the heart that infects our blood
Allowing and forcing us to spend a long death before life?