Amid the illusions, ambiguities and fears, the scorpion opens its mouth and says:
Except being a stranger
The idea, thought of the soil
Watching the dirts in being
Burning the wet moon in the glimmer of the sun-faces,
What is your world, failed from the truth?
So it was, not standing to stand
scorpion says, then he stands in front of me and points to the city of black illusions.
A city made of snow and frozen blue faces, looking black; Now I and the stone corridors are the only existence that are here to sink into the heart of the mountain and spread our wings through the sky-like heart of the soil, and blood must be spilled from our flight and the stone corridors become an underground city of skulls of smileys, of course after They suffocated from the unseen pain and the terror that now appears in another face.
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