We do not have the presumption of wanting to change what surrounds us,
and we do not feel the desire to be part of something, anything.
We let the events slide, with the resignation of those who can not fight their enemies, even with the will.
We are not afraid to die.
We are aware to walk on the sands of life without a goal, and leaving no trace behind.
But this awareness, rather than make the journey easier,
exacerbates the difficulty of moving a small step after another.

All around us, is empty.
Empty as the heavy shell of our own worthlessness, that oppresses us and slows us down,
 but every day we drag with us, reassured by its weight and comforted by his presence.
All around us, is a game.
A stupid game that we did not ask to participate, and which it is impossible to understand the rules,
but we continue to play every day, although realizing that we have already lost.

Because we are echoes in an empty room, slaves of our own desires,
and our ghosts keep walk by our side,
with hands-sharp knives.