Open Time Passage (To The Cemetery Path) Very slowly I weave the long hair while white spider devours them inside, barefoot between pits and red dust towards the passage of old and open time, by taming the monsters of fury, they fall all in dark black obfuscating their entanglement, contemplating from afar how fear arrives. The wine falls on a rune of three heavens. Dark red shines like loose hair. To you born of the cold I say as the living who sits waiting for you dead. To you guardians of the river I repeat that the wretched curve awaits to see you. To you, a kind of deposit, comfort, no ice... I'm going forward slowly and slowly downwind, the wider the straighter the shortcut. Wet is the dark soil of the road, Quietly the vast firmament insists on boiling, and your smell floods the battle in a rite. Climb on top of it and don't leave any drops or residue, in the desire to swallow all your poison. On your gray face a tear is burning. Glow alone in the v...