If he's let out alive he'll take the crimes with him. He has no other shortcut. A knife between life and death. Light is cut open and bent by the lonely sky. The world is as painful as fate.
Words are shackles.
Once he's learned how to confess, no one can ever defend him. But no audience. The sea is the source. It's a sick epoch, lungs hit me with coughing My own lungs are getting sick with love. My own body hits me with diseases My own body is like a clock of our time.