The hall boiling like a volcano. A multitude of mirrors placed on the walls are shared between them the scenes of the soil. Above the heads of marble dome bends space and catapult down the roar of voices and laughter. Once on the floor, the tapestry of sounds again linked in a wicker rocking sound. The glass dome that crowns multicromatic catches the light, again combines its components at will, braid igneous bouquets, and sticks one after another on white surfaces. A short staircase cylinder inner surface forming an inner channel of polished stone, metal vein tissue that covers the gallery walls, snaking along the crests and old portraits.
On the surface, these glasses clink tapestry framing a fleeting conversation. Succeed the corridors of guests, tracing mobile polyhedra around cars full of candy and salamanders. A crowd ragged beats like a huge texture arteries. They rejoice momentarily
beggars and dancers under the intersection of the vaults, sharing space with the sluggish progress in their footsteps. In the movement of the crowd dissolved all plans, the crowns of certainties lose their jewels, many of which roll on the floor as flashes useless. In this place looks no folds, the memories are attached with nails of scar and the beggars are rewarded each other with gentle Eucharist while talking about the beauty disobedient both know, and how impatiently waiting behind the back of all things. With bare hands have torn the fabric of contemplations, and now named shouted to the heroes and the poor: mention the names of those who have struggled to grow thin, of those who shared with the sovereign jewelry, obscene spinning flags with golden strands of belonging. Reminiscent of those missing in the dragon's mouth causes, also finally extinguished in the same party that celebrated. Nor do they forget those who were victorious and bloody hugged his works, strange babies sharp spikes.
All the greatness of the stage running in circles in the water of the hourglasses, recreating the future tense. The cenotaphs on which we dance down here can not be filled ever.
Here in this feast we were just beggars.
On the surface, these glasses clink tapestry framing a fleeting conversation. Succeed the corridors of guests, tracing mobile polyhedra around cars full of candy and salamanders. A crowd ragged beats like a huge texture arteries. They rejoice momentarily
beggars and dancers under the intersection of the vaults, sharing space with the sluggish progress in their footsteps. In the movement of the crowd dissolved all plans, the crowns of certainties lose their jewels, many of which roll on the floor as flashes useless. In this place looks no folds, the memories are attached with nails of scar and the beggars are rewarded each other with gentle Eucharist while talking about the beauty disobedient both know, and how impatiently waiting behind the back of all things. With bare hands have torn the fabric of contemplations, and now named shouted to the heroes and the poor: mention the names of those who have struggled to grow thin, of those who shared with the sovereign jewelry, obscene spinning flags with golden strands of belonging. Reminiscent of those missing in the dragon's mouth causes, also finally extinguished in the same party that celebrated. Nor do they forget those who were victorious and bloody hugged his works, strange babies sharp spikes.
All the greatness of the stage running in circles in the water of the hourglasses, recreating the future tense. The cenotaphs on which we dance down here can not be filled ever.
Here in this feast we were just beggars.
