symphony of lights hong kong
pre - requiem for a last puff of tobacco, an ode to a joy that kills
it is in the year 2554 (Buddhist calender), that i mourn the death of my personal assistant in habitual meditative moments of inhaling introspective thoughts of nothingness. there was no magic in your dragon i was chasing, just a tar road you paved all the way down my bronchial tracts.
this is it, the end, goodbye!
one half of the twins helping out with cleaning up