Becoming part of the cold tiles
Against the floor
The shining white tiles
…
No reason to stand up
nor even rolling down to any of the sides
No prison but no reason
…
Becoming part of the big lie
Against the floor the cold cheeks the sore mind
The endless squared tiles
Merging into the lies, into the tiles
…
No reason to move but the treason
Towards your outstretched hand
Towards the prison of the sore mind
The endless chauvinist lies
