FINAL STATION: COMPLETION!

The massive, solid octopus tentacles of worry are reaching out over us. The pitch-black night threatens us with moon-yellow ominous stars. A clinging joy, or a muted sorrow-collage goes on and on - recalled memories never rest. Fear lurks everywhere. In the cellular fibres of man, there is often no assured way out of the bonds of our tangled world. 

Locked in a seven-tower of multiple pains, no one can belong to another. A childhood in the deep sea has with great difficulty surfaced into a rare-oasis desert of hopeful adulthood. In lives burnt down with a flickering flame, blunders sparingly produced a recipe for survival for others. A vicious wind of memories overflowing over the sound of heart valves. 

Envies measured in time-shifting, careerist promises violently bursting for unsuspecting people uninitiated have long been wrong: a basic image, repeated in the wrong place at the wrong time, that goes beyond a single high school diploma, a hard-to-get advanced degree - a camp of perpetual childishness trapped between sleepless hangovers, bad dreams, wild wakes, and sleeplessly trained hangovers, imaginatively accustomed to abandon the rules of livability. It builds furniture, prison walls around itself. 

Secretly, they already feel all that they have missed or could have done from one day to the next, the sympathetic past, who are tormented by the material and human necessities of life, are bidding farewell to this world with resigned docility, so that they may not remain unnecessary burdens to themselves or to anyone else! - A jerk society produces and breeds gigolo jerks. The wild whores of our time trample their orphans to the ground in a lack of etiquette!