last rite

Angel calls on me set to take me out, angel with no face. the end of the line; beginning of time, a matter of faith. I see all my friends from distance afar on another plane, mourning over me: a sickness of heart a sense of betrayal. have you seen the twilight close so slow. (I rose over them so light). Men in black suits dressed cold soft wood and marble silk, to take me away. No heaven or hell. the memory behind lingers on a face. have you seen the twilight close so slow. (I rose over them so light). Fotografias de Mafalda Paiva