You' re still here. You don't realize how we are rotten. It's nothing original, anyhow. The fact that we visit one another in our more or less subtle dreams is not even an oddity. We' ve just moored mutually in our brains and even if you state there's no me, I' ll suddenly emerge in your head's street, naked, and before you know I'll have tasted you. There's no remedy for it. We are too weak and corroded to renounce this shred of debauchery. Neither the priorities, nor wives or poetries will work, no even a holy conviction that everything goes on just as it should. My presence will invaryingly introduce confusion, no matter how hard you try to roughen your voice to play brusque, and turn away your glance, you' d rather run away than dare to, I know it, I see that indecent sparkle behind the screen of your words. You want to be very straight but you fail to. Still we cannot forget this touch. You may even give up smoking or drinking (although I know you won't), you may not listen to these or those songs. Sooner or later we' ll meet again. And I know, how your eyes will look like.