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The prince waits. With serene body and predator eyes He waits for the promised feast.

Waits the less valued than pigs The so called xxi century artist. Sons of an empty or not understood movement. Im not quite shure. But in hunger times We need to heat what moves. Without knowing if they are sick or not. We ignore the green, yellow body The smell abd the red veined eyes. And we eat, we eat what moves. The prince waits. He wants to heat the eaters As I said in hunger times Eternalization of the soul isnt what he seeks, As we do! He doesnt get sick As we do! He seeks the purification of the moment, And in the present he starves. He isnt a son of mortal remains, As we do! Sacrifice yourself in the altar of truth. Hang yourself in the curtain And swing. Swing it low.

What causes the movement of the celestial bodies? Appetite, egoism. The animal that kills the prince hunger, During a more lasting moment of realization During a well limited eternity is the one that understands the movement. And even the motivation of celestial bodies. Searching for the moment we are all the same Without friendship. But what satisfies the prince the most Is our unique ability of redirecting movement The moment of friendship. The opportunity, not ever taken Of breaking causality. The moment when by being artist The same can stop being it

To became human Even by the shortest period of time.