“You are no longer here and we will have to agree– that is a release. Dance. Get as far away from yourself as possible. Dilute yourself, in that sphere run away. Neither remember nor write, let the wooden picture on the funeral pyre be well lit. The stairs to the torment between the ropes, that is your voice. Which is not yours, nor is it any longer coloured or curved. One foot here, one eye there. No one listens, no one sows, there is no possession, the audience shrank and is the size of a chain. A chain that crucifies the listener painfully waiting for all the moments of his earthly existence. Wow, it will be the pedals, it will be the speakers, it will be spring. You, you, yes, you, the fog, the mist of the electric melody. “Remember to rejoice until the day comes to board the earth who loves silence…”  Text by Héctor Arnau