You feel weak.
	Your body is collapsing.
	Your head is spinning.
	Your room is shaking.
	Your hands are trembling.
	Your feet are aching.
	Your sight is blurring.
	Your mind is fading.
And your room is burnt down ---
	For you were a catapillar,
		Now a butterfly!

The magician is about to come home,
	By the roads across a dome.
		The place is filled with vase,
			Each in its own case.
He gently takes one,
	For his beloved son,
		Who have since grown along.
But when returns to his place,
	It is no longer blessed with grace,
		For the water has covered the base,
			That no one is able to face.

Oil and greese,
	Is my melody,
		Fills my appetite,
			Kills my malady.
Iron and steel,
	Is my memory,
		Clicks my chrysolite,
			Moves my whole body.
Smell!
	Listen!
		It's good to be that dirty!

	What is this poem doing here?
	What the hell does it have anything to do with the film?
	
	Why are you reading this?
	Why aren't you watching the film instead?
	
	What? The link is dead?
	Well, can't you use the search engine a bit?
	What year is this anyway?
	
	Why the hell am I writing this again?

How far is a dust's summer?


				   Farther than colors can travel.

Beauty is a shadow,
	Like a bow without an arrow.
	The shadow is walking on its own road,
		Dancing the lonely tango.
And comes the Master,
	Wandering through the puddle,
	Picks up the bow by his toe,
		Gazing into the shadow.
A blow through the bow,
	An arrow soon to follow,
		The show ended long time ago.

A man was invited to a party,
	But is unable to avoid the tardy.
		It is just after eleven thirty,
			And the party is listening to Verdi.
			
			Everyone is in their shorty,
		Except him, looking rather nerdy.
	He goes on eating for a hour and forty,
Just to keep his mind sturdy.
	For long enough?
		Until the other guests get thirsty...

Your desk is too small for a lamp,
Your chair is too big for a cramp,
Your bed is too soft for a champ.
	WHAT
		GIVES?
Sit on your desk,
	Do your work on the chair with no stress,
		Then take out your bed and sleep with bless.
	WHO
		GIVES
			A SHIT?

What's that doorknob doing on my door?
    How do you expect people to get home from work?
        Ah...
            Good morning, kitty!
                Now get downstairs and out of my way!
                    Oh, I can't find a place to sit!
                        Who moved my tiger?
                            Must be the wife!
                                Always asleep in the morning!
                                If I could get to my bedroom...
...Where is the doorknob on the door?

Tap a dilli-a-do,
	Sap a silli-e-tu,
		Nap a nilli-y-lou,
Honey sweet,
	As sweat in the morning,
		Evaporates in the feet,
			On a elegant landing.
Swing-a-dillo-do,
	Play-a-little-boo-boo,
		Roll-in-a-homey-at-e-coo.
						by *^^i-*