missknox

Soul Fly

The soul does not wrinkle, it is only our skin
The skin that cracks with time and holds the soul within
The skin, the border from outside, the thick crust of bread
The skin that stretches from your feet up to the head
The skin that breaks from wounds or from its old age
The skin that holds the divine bird inside the old cage
The skin that one day will make its final sigh
The skin that will surrender and let your bird fly