The kind of world that I want exists only in my dreams, since I was a little kid.
The world in which I habit it's made of clay and train rails.
In my world my feet walk through melting volcanoes and fly upon sticky rivers. In my world I live alone and I’ve got five years old, but I talk like a grown up, and somebody I don't know loves me and accompanies me when I walk through the forest.
Im not in this world, I exist in another, where light has a certain temperature and you can float if you want to. In my world Im on my own again. I don't want to have to wake up again.