At the gate Who gives the poetical way to transcend ? Or the spiral data source that inhale and exhale life ? My squared senses had the serial door number erased by heavy rain So i could understand that nothingness generates facts and tendencies Fake intellectuals hate popular culture but glorify effort I stand with the delicateness , i bow for It That one we can find in white flowers, those that dance (when eyes don't confront them) They swing to a kind of colour that lens coudn't capture I'm still waiting for my guests Tamers, magicians and clowns exausted for their work in a circus Beggars for rest and true I will offer angels, biscuits and tea The night fullfill what is missing Tomorrow, recharged, we will clean the house. G.S. - from: Purple mind Ao portão Quem dá as licenças poéticas para transcender ? Ou a fonte de dados em espiral que inspira e expira vida ? Quadrado o