Glitters still exist! Let’s hear it for the slaves of agony, who apply the trees of lightened heights while kindling fires of selfless smiles. Visions erupt like demonic volcanoes, seeking voices of healing, gazes of bliss and touches of grace. Dreams fade in the dark behind of forsaken chairs of honour, above the cheers of ponder and beyond the obvious asunder.
Dancing wigs refuse to detach the heads of polished women, pregnant of colourless tomorrow but hunted by beards of their lovers. Red roses bleed bibles of sovereign romance ignited by traces of dark forests and erected by glossy and juicy lips. Withering tales of flashy models with fleshy appeals resign from the game of ben and his ten aggressive moments of error.
The era begins to thwart the anticipated glories of lit leaves starved by malicious gods of tender influence. Feathers shut their doors of gracious weaves, signalling a temporary reign of pure but tainted fires. Wisdom turn into kingdoms of thieves craving to eat what their master gave them not, disarming the banks of guilty wealth and impurifying heads of state with beds of stained traits.
Crazy waters looking like orphaned kings of time, who whisper in vain while painting legacies of disgusting fates, are feasting on the promises of greedy seas who on their own lost prestige to the armies of pathetic hills and shameless stars of careless glitters.
Vintage textures, vivid tempters and seamless wrinkles have all collided to establish a divine force that longs to change the unchangeable in the name of exploring the unknown. Golden songs, silver hymns, succulent choruses and stunning voices have built their temples in the far lands of mother nature with unapologetic mortars of glitter.