Something is lost in us.
forgotten.
Something that reflects on us, wherever we go. Old furniture impregnated with drugs. Fears that have no answers that do not have a cure. Symptoms that open horizons of the disease.
Pazzi of hypochondriasis, we wander in life operated by a state of affairs that we locked up in towers of normality.
is fraying and the daily, hour by hour. And you'll discover
older, more awkward, closer to Earth than ever ...
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