your eyes behind the door cracknthe food tastes like your lips smacknyour smell sneaks through the flowersnand tortures me for hoursni switch it on and here we gonyour voice come through the stereonnin all these narrow spacesnand all these little placesni see some of your facesnnto feel is more or less in vainnthe only feeling left is painnto be awake is useless toonone wouldn't wait for nothing newnnot even sleepnis a place to withdrewnnin all these narrow spacesnand all these little placesni see some of your faces