White lights, would you say white lights? Little by little, they began to lose their blood. That's why they're white. A bloodish light in this street. Moon is behind, hidding, looking back at her sometimes. Her suffering is too painful. She doesn't dare to stare at it properly. What do you want to do with this? How do you want to think or sink.. (it depends of what you hear or the way you pronounce it). Bloodish lights' sounds. Shrill noises. Where are you? What is this street? Murders seem casual, memories are just unbearable to accept and the only thing you want, is to clean up this blood which trickles everywhere. Killing yourself is the way to enter in this street and feel the pain. Not the pain which likes to see you down but creative pain. You have to wear the gloomy mask, to accept to have it back on your face. To forget? What do you want to forget, little boy, the pain has always been there and you have to wear it, I've already said that, I don't like to repeat. Just useless. I felt the happy gloom it in the cold bricks of this house. Come on and dance, you don't have the choice to accept it. Accept the sharing. A short memory is back. In this street, people don't like to speak, they observe. Dark advantages of the way you see it. Happy dance of ghoulish melancholia nights.